


















’ ^ ‘‘TTJ’- ,0 



\b' ^ * •' 1 * A. 0 ^ %>** o n o j ^ 

V • * •«- O. «0 s * * • % *> V 

^ <Wa ” 0 % j? *N£fev. > /, 

° V <? • 

° o v//W\\\r - C-> VJ . r> J '^Nlf 

* V ° 



^ • 

^'•W a 

* **b 4 ^ « i ' * ^ <$■> 



A Q *** 

yr . * *> 

• ^ a v i 





* * ' 1 “* A 0 ^O N 

* jlO* . v!^L'* *> 


* v 

: » 

• aV<* * 0 

* 'V t* 


* «? ^ o 

01 «k V c£* * * 

c o* \> ^ yj ^\:. ^ 







* 7 *, • ' 4 o 

* c *yy/i\)<# ? * ^ V0w«sSrV y ** 

T ^ * ' 1 A 0 * o * 0 0 $- o + , , 

v ***°- ck jy *yzj+ ,»•<>„ %> 

$ /jAVa’o *V .A *. 




' *' 1 ' f 

y # 4 S> * 

• i j 

: • 

« o 

** ^ V <?> ° 

6 M ° ♦ O 




L ^ . k, s ^ 



O ^L/T**-? t ~*£ 





*A 

a c,^ 

■6 C? ' J ^\ • 

4 - 0 . V -* 

* A° ^ ^ 7 .s' 

CT i 0 " ° ♦ ^b <<2 

~ C •c^ <4 ' o j* 

* 4 * esSNWTvV * tN 

V* o' ® 

4 O 


o • A 


b V 

iO^. • 

* r\ ^ % (w> 11 

’ f° % ‘*.r,'• 0,7 °o ‘‘Trr.’ .o 

<y s * M' ^ ^ \/ *'•<>, (? <y s s • • , 

«" A A ^ C? 9l • «£> . aP V LtfftflBt** 



♦o.o’ =V *•..'• V. 

> V s .<•». %•. , 0 V ,t• • /* *> 



,7 . •^ , % O' 

ov' ''§m&' ^ 

P-no *<9(Spv 

*e »■>’* C < : 

AV - V »'*»- 

t <* .-x /» * . ft ^ • 


•- 

vv : 

* «? °b> 

* & 































































































































• 12 * 2 . 















♦ 










* 





* 














s 








































% 

* 

















ROXY HARVESTING AMONG THE KITCHENS 


































PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

AND 

THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 




By MARK TWAIN jvco.. 


ILLUSTRATED 



HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 

NEW YORK AND LONDON 


Books by 

MARK TWAIN 



BT. JOAN OF ARC 


THE INNOCENTS ABROAD 
ROUGHING IT 
THE GILDED AGE 

A TRAMP ABROAD _ 

FOLLOWING THE EQUATOR 
PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 
SKETCHES NEW AND OLD 
THE AMERICAN CLAIMANT 
CHRISTIAN SCIENCE 

A CONNECTICUT YANKEE AT THE COURT OF 
KING ARTHUR 

THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF JOAN OF ARC 

LIFE ON THE MISSISSIPPI 

THE MAN THAT CORRUPTED HADLEYBURQ 

THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER 

THE $30,000 BEQUEST 

THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER 

TOM SAWYER ABROAD 

WHAT IS MAN? 

THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER 

ADAM’S DIARY 
A DOG’S TALE 

A DOUBLE-BARRELED DETECTIVE STORY 
EDITORIAL WILD OATS 
EVE’S DIARY 

IN DEFENSE OF HARRIET SHELLEY AND 
OTHER ESSAYS 
IS SHAKESPEARE DEAD? 

CAPT. STORMFIELD’S VISIT TO HEAVEN 

A HORSE’S TALE 

THE JUMPING FROG 

THE £1,000,000 BANK-NOTBi 

TRAVELS AT HOME 

TRAVELS IN HISTORY 

MARK TWAIN’S LETTERS 

MARK TWAIN’S SPEECHES 


HARPER & BROTHERS. NEW YORK 


[EaTjUJLIBHJED 1817] 


Pudd’nhead Wilson 


Copyright, 1893 - 1894 , by the Century Company, in the Century Magazine 


Copyright, 1894 and 1899. by Olivia L. Clemens 
The right of dramatization and translation reserved 
Printed in the United States of America 


ou 






CONTENTS 


CHAP. PAGB 

A Whisper to the Reader 

I. Pudd’nhead Wins His Name . i 

II. Driscoll Spares His Slaves. 8 

III. Roxy Plays a Shrewd Trick.18 

IV 7 . The Ways of the Changelings.26 

V. The Twins Thrill Dawson’s Landing .... 37 

VI. Swimming in Glory. 44 

VII. The Unknown Nymph. 51 

VIII. Marse Tom Tramples His Chance.56 

IX. Tom Practises Sycophancy. 69 

X. The Nymph Revealed.76 

XI. Pudd’nhead’s Startling Discovery.83 

XII. The Shame of Judge Driscoll.101 

XIII. Tom Stares at Ruin. 108 

XIV. Roxana Insists upon Reform.117 

XV. The Robber Robbed. 130 

XVI. Sold Down the River.142 

XVII. The Judge Utters Dire Prophecy.147 

XVIII. Roxana Commands.150 

XIX. The Prophecy Realized.164 

XX. The Murderer Chuckles. 176 

XXI. Doom. 186 

THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

I. The Twins as They Really Were.213 

II. Ma Cooper Gets All Mixed Up . 223 

III. Angelo 13 Blue.• • 234 
























CONTENTS 


CHAP. PAGW 

IV. Supernatural Chronometry. 239 

V. Guilt and Innocence Finely Blent . 250 

VI. The Amazing Duel . . 270 

VII. Luigi Defies Galen . 278 

VIII. Baptism of the Better Half. 286 

IX. The Drinkless Drunk.290 

X. So They Hanged Luigi. 293 









ILLUSTRATIONS 


ROXY HARVESTING AMONG THE KITCHENS . . . 

“MAKE THE FINGER PRINTS THAT WILL HANG 

you” . .. 

44 I THOUGHT I WOULD WRITE A LITTLE STORY ** . 


Frontispiece 

Facing p. 200 
44 208 



' A WHISPER TO THE READER 


' There is no character, howsoever good and fine, but it can be 
destroyed by ridicule, howsoever poor and witless. Observe 
the ass, for instance: his character is about perfect, he is the 
choicest spirit among all the humbler animals, yet see what 
ridicule has brought him to. Instead of feeling complimented 
when we are called an ass, we are left in doubt. 

— Pudd’nhead Wilson's Calendar . 

A person who is ignorant of legal matters is 
always liable to make mistakes when he tries to 
photograph a court scene with his pen; and so I 
was not willing to let the law chapters in this book 
go to press without first subjecting them to rigid and 
exhausting revision and correction by a trained 
barrister—if that is what they are called. These 
chapters are right now in every detail, for they were 
rewritten under the immediate eye of William 
Hicks, who studied law part of a while in southwest 
Missouri thirty-five years ago and then came over 
here to Florence for his health and is still helping 
for exercise and board in Macaroni Vermicelli’s 
horse-feed shed which is up the back alley as you 
turn around the comer out of the Piazza del Duomo 
just beyond the house where that stone that Dante 
used to sit on six hundred years ago is let into the 
wall when he let on to be watching them build 


A WHISPER TO THE READER 


Giotto's campanile and yet always got tired looking 
as soon as Beatrice passed along on her way to get 
a chunk of chestnut cake to defend herself with in 
case of a Ghibelline outbreak before she got to 
school, at the same old stand where they sell the 
same old cake to this day and it is just as light and 
good as it was then, too, and this is not flattery, far 
from it. He was a little rusty on his law, but he 
rubbed up for this book, and those two or three 
legal chapters are right and straight now. He told 
me so himself. 

Given under my hand this second day of January, 
1893, at the Villa Viviani, village of Settignano, 
three miles back of Florence, on the hills—the same 
certainly affording the most charming view to be 
found on this planet, and with it the most dream¬ 
like and enchanting sunsets to be found in any 
planet or even in any solar system—and given, 
too, in the swell room of the house, with the busts 
of Cerretani senators and other grandees of this 
line looking approvingly down upon me as they 
used to look down upon Dante, and mutely asking 
me to adopt them into my family, which I do with 
pleasure, for my remotest ancestors are but spring 
chickens compared with these robed and stately 
antiques, and it will be a great and satisfying lift 
for me, that six hundred years will. 

Mark Twain. 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 


CHAPTER I 

Tell the truth or trump—but get the trick. 

— Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar. 

T HE scene of this chronicle is the town of Daw¬ 
son's Landing, on the Missouri side of the 
Mississippi, half a day's journey, per steamboat, 
below St. Louis. 

In 18.30 it was a snug little collection of modest 
one and two-story frame dwellings whose white¬ 
washed exteriors were almost concealed from sight 
by climbing tangles of rose vines, honeysuckles, and 
morning-glories. Each of these pretty homes had a 
garden in front fenced with white palings and opu¬ 
lently stocked with hollyhocks, marigolds, touch- 
me-nots, prince’s-feathers, and other old-fashioned 
flowers; while on the window-sills of the houses 
stood wooden boxes containing moss-rose plants and 
terra-cotta pots in which grew a breed of geranium 
whose spread of intensely red blossoms accented the 
prevailing pink tint of the rose-clad house-front like 
an explosion of flame. When there was room on 
the ledge outside of the pots and boxes for a cat, 


MARK TWAIN 

the cat was there—in sunny weather—stretched at 
full length, asleep and blissful, with her furry belly 
to the sun and a paw curved over her nose. Then 
that house was complete, and its contentment and 
peace were made manifest to the world by this 
symbol, whose testimony is infallible. A home 
without a cat—and a well-fed, well-petted and prop¬ 
erly revered cat—may be a perfect home, perhaps, 
but how can it prove title? 

All along the streets, on both sides, at the outer 
edge of the brick sidewalks, stood locust-trees with 
trunks protected by wooden boxing, and these fur¬ 
nished shade for summer and a sweet fragrance in 
spring when the clusters of buds came forth. The 
main street, one block back from the river, and run¬ 
ning parallel with it, was the sole business street. 
It was six blocks long, and in each block two or 
three brick stores three stories high towered above 
interjected bunches of little frame shops. Swinging 
signs creaked in the wind, the street’s whole length. 
The candy-striped pole, which indicates nobility 
proud and ancient along the palace-bordered canals 
of Venice, indicated merely the humble barber shop 
along the main street of Dawson’s Landing. On a 
chief comer stood a lofty unpainted pole wreathed 
from top to bottom with tin pots and pans and cups, 
the chief tinmonger’s noisy notice to the world 
(when the wind blew) that his shop was on hand for 
business at that comer. 

The hamlet’s front was washed by the clear waters 
of the great river; its body stretched itself rearward 
up a gentle incline; its most rearward border fringed 


PUDDN’HEAD WILSON 

itself out and scattered its houses about the base¬ 
line of the hills; the hills rose high, inclosing the 
town in a half-moon curve, clothed with forests from 
foot to summit. 

Steamboats passed up and down every hour or 
so. Those belonging to the little Cairo line and the 
little Memphis line always stopped; the big Orleans 
liners stopped for hails only, or to land passengers 
or freight; and this was the case also with the great 
flotilla of “transients.” These latter came out of a 
dozen rivers—the Illinois, the Missouri, the Upper 
Mississippi, the Ohio, the Monongahela, the Ten¬ 
nessee, the Red River, the White River, and so on; 
and were bound every whither and stocked with 
every imaginable comfort or necessity which the 
Mississippi’s communities could want, from the 
frosty Falls of St. Anthony down through nine 
climates to torrid New Orleans. 

Dawson’s Landing was a slaveholding town, with 
a rich slave-worked grain and pork country back of 
it. The town was sleepy and comfortable and con¬ 
tented. It was fifty years old, and was growing 
slowly—very slowly, in fact, but still it was growing. 

The chief citizen was York Leicester Driscoll, 
about forty years old, judge of the county court. 
He was very proud of his old Virginian ancestry, 
and in his hospitalities and his rather formal and 
stately manners he kept up its traditions. He was 
fine and just and generous. To be a gentleman—a 
gentleman without stain or blemish—was his only 
religion, and to it he was always faithful. He was 
respected, esteemed, and beloved by all the com- 
„ 3 


MARK TWAIN 


munity. He, was well off, and was gradually adding 
to his store. He and his wife were very nearly 
happy, but not quite, for they had no children. 
The longing for the treasure of a child had grown 
stronger and stronger as the years slipped away, but 
the blessing never came—and was never to come. 

With this pair lived the Judge's widowed sister, 
Mrs. Rachel Pratt, and she also was childless— 
childless, and sorrowful for that reason, and not to 
be comforted. The women were good and common¬ 
place people, and did their duty and had their re¬ 
ward in clear consciences and the community’s 
approbation. They were Presbyterians, the Judge 
was a free-thinker. 


Pembroke Howard, lawyer and bachelor, aged 
about forty, was another old Virginian grandee with 
proved descent from the First Families. He was a 
fine, brave, majestic creature, a gentleman according 
to the nicest requirements of the Virginia rule, a 
devoted Presbyterian, an authority on the 4 ‘code,” 
and a man always courteously ready to stand up 
before you in the field if any act or word of his had 
seemed doubtful or suspicious to you, and explain 
it with any weapon you might prefer from brad-awls 
to artillery. He was very popular with the people, 



and was the Judge’s dearest friend. 


I Then there was Colonel Cecil Burleigh Essex, 
another F. F. V. of formidable caliber—however, 
with him we have no concern. 

Percy Northumberland Driscoll, brother to the 
Judge, and younger than he by five years, was a 
, married man, and had had children around hm 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

hearthstone; but they were attacked in detail by 
measles, croup, and scarlet fever, and this had given 
the doctor a chance- with his effective antediluvian 
methods; so the cradles were empty. He was a 
prosperous man, with a good head for speculations, 
and his fortune was growing. On the ist of Feb¬ 
ruary, 1830, two boy babes were born in his house; 
one to him, the other to one of his slave girls, Roxana 
by name. Roxana was twenty years old. She was 
up and around the same day, with her hands full, 
for she was tending both babies. 

Mrs. Percy Driscoll died within the week. Roxy 
remained in charge of the children. She had her 
own way, for Mr. Driscoll soon absorbed himself in 
his speculations and left her to her own devices. 

In that same month of February, Dawson’s Land¬ 
ing gained a new citizen. This was Mr. David 
Wilson, a young fellow of Scotch parentage. He 
had wandered to this remote region from his birth¬ 
place in the interior of the state of New York, to 
seek his fortune. He 'was twenty-five years old, 
college-bred, and had finished a post-college course 
in an Eastern law school a couple of years before. 

He was a homely, freckled, sandy-haired young 
fellow, with an intelligent blue eye that had frank¬ 
ness and comradeship in it and a covert twinkle of a 
pleasant sort. But for an unfortunate remark of 
his, he would no doubt have entered at once upon 
a successful career at Dawson’s Landing. But he 
made his fatal remark the first day he spent in the 
village, and it “gaged” him. He had just made 
the acquaintance of a group of citizens when an 
5 . 


MARK TWAIN 

invisible dog began to yelp and snarl and howl and 
make himself very comprehensively disagreeable, 
whereupon young Wilson said, much as one who is 
thinking aloud: 

* “I wish I owned half of that dog.” 

“Why?” somebody asked. 

“Because I would kill my half.” 

The group searched his face with curiosity, with 
anxiety even, but found no light there, no express 
sion that they could read. They fell away from him 
as from something uncanny, and went into privacy 
to discuss him. One said: 

“’Pears to be a fool.” 

“’Pears?” said another. “Is, I reckon you bet¬ 
ter say.” 

“Said he wished he owned half of the dog, the 
idiot,” said a third. “What did he reckon would 
become of the other half if he killed his half? Do 
you reckon he thought it would live?” 

“Why, he must have thought it, unless he is the 
downrightest fool in the world; because if he hadn’t 
thought it, he would have wanted to own the whole 
dog, knowing that if he killed his half and the other 
half died, he would be responsible for that half just 
the same as if he had killed that half instead of his 
own. Don’t it look that way to you, gents?” 

“Yes, it does. If he owned one half of the general 
dog, it would be so; if he owned one end of the dog 
and another person owned the other end, it would 
be so, just the same; particularly in the first case, 
because if you kill one half of a general dog, there 
ain’t any man that can tell whose half it was, but 
6 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

if he owned one end of the dog, maybe he could 
kill his end of it and—” 

“No, he couldn’t, either; he couldn’t and not be 
responsible if the other end died, which it would. 
In my opinion the man ain’t in his right mind.” 

“In my opinion he hain’t got any mind.” 

No. 3 said: “Well, he’s a lummox, anyway.” 

“That’s what he is,” said No. 4, “he’s a labrick 
—just a Simon-pure labrick, if ever there was one.” 

“Yes, sir, he’s a dam fool, that’s the way I put 
him up,” said No. 5. “Anybody can think different 
that wants to, but those are my sentiments.” 

“I’m with you, gentlemen,” said No. 6. “Per¬ 
fect jackass—yes, and it ain’t going too far to say 
he is a pudd’nhead. If he ain’t a pudd’nhead, I 
ain’t no judge, that’s all.” 

Mr. Wilson stood elected. The incident was told 
all over the town, and gravely discussed by every¬ 
body. Within a week he had lost his first name; 
Pudd’nhead took its place. In time he came to be 
liked, and well liked, too; but by that time the 
nickname had got well stuck on, and it stayed. 
That first day’s verdict made him a fool, and he 
was not able to get it set aside, or even modified. 
The nickname soon ceased to carry any harsh or 
unfriendly feeling with it, but it held its place, and 
was to continue to hold its place for twenty long 
years. 


CHAPTER II 


Adam was but human—this explains it all. He did not want 
the apple for the apple’s sake, he wanted it only because it was 
forbidden. The mistake was in not forbidding the serpent; 
then he would have eaten the serpent. 

— Pudd'nhead Wilson's Calendar. 

P UDD’NHEAD WILSON had a trifle of money 
when he arrived, and he bought a small house 
on the extreme western verge of the town. Between 
it and Judge Driscoll’s house there was only a grassy 
yard, with a paling fence dividing the properties in 
the middle. He hired a small office down in the 
town and hung out a tin sign with these words on it: 

DAVID WILSON 

ATTORNEY AND COUNSELOR-AT-LAW 
SURVEYING, CONVEYANCING, ETC. 

But his deadly remark had ruined his chance—at 
least in the law. No clients came. He took down 
his sign after a while and put it up on his own house 
with the law features knocked out of it. It offered 
his services now in the humble capacities of land- 
surveyor and expert accountant. Now and then he 
got a job of surveying to do, and now and then a 
merchant got him to straighten out his books. With 
Scotch patience and pluck he resolved to live down 
8 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

his reputation and work his way into the legal field 
yet. Poor fellow! he could not foresee that it was 
going to take him such a weary long time to do it. 

He had a rich abundance of idle time, but it never 
hung heavy on his hands, for he interested himself 
in every new thing that was bom into the universe 
of ideas, and studied it and experimented upon it at 
his house. One of his pet fads was palmistry. To 
another one he gave no name, neither would he 
explain to anybody what its purpose was, but merely 
said it was an amusement. In fact, he had found 
that his fads added to his reputation as a pudd’n- 
head; therefore he was growing chary of being too 
communicative about them. The fad without a 
name was one which dealt with people’s finger¬ 
marks. He carried in his coat pocket a shallow 
box with grooves in it, and in the grooves strips of 
glass five inches long and three inches wide. Along 
the lower edge of each strip was pasted a slip of 
white paper. He asked people to pass their hands 
through their hair (thus collecting upon them a thin 
coating of the natural oil) and then make a thumb- 
mark on a glass strip, following it with the mark of 
the ball of each finger in succession. Under this 
row of faint grease-prints he would write a record 
on the strip of white paper—thus: 

John Smith, right hand — 

and add the day of the month and the year, then 
take Smith’s- left hand on another glass strip, and 
add name and date and the words “left hand.” 
The strips were now returned to the grooved box, 


MARK TWAIN 

and took their place among what Wilson called his 
4 ‘records.” 

He often studied his records, examining and 
poring over them with absorbing interest until far 
into the night; but what he found there—if he found 
anything—he revealed to no one. Sometimes he 
copied on paper the involved and delicate pattern 
left by the ball of a finger, and then vastly en¬ 
larged it with a pantograph so that he could examine 
its web of curving lines with ease and convenience. 

One sweltering afternoon—it was the first day of 
July, 1830—he was at work over a set of tangled 
account-books in his workroom, which looked west¬ 
ward over a stretch of vacant lots, when a conver¬ 
sation outside disturbed him. It was carried on in 
yells, which showed that the people engaged in it 
were not close together: 

“Say, Roxy, how does yo’ baby come on?” This 
from the distant voice. 

“Fust-rate; how does you come on, Jasper?” 
This yell was from close by. 

“’Oh, I’s middlin’; hain’t got noth’n” to com¬ 
plain of. I’s gwine to come a-court’n’ }^ou bimeby, 
Roxy.” 

“You is, you black mudcat! Yah—yah—yah! 
I got somep’n’ better to do den ’sociat’n’ wid niggers 
as black as you is. Is ole Miss Cooper’s Nancy 
done give you de mitten?” Roxy followed this 
sally with, another discharge of care-free laughter. 

“You’s jealous, Roxy, dat’s what’s de matter wid 
you, you hussy—yah—yah—yah! Dat’s de time 
I got you!” 


10 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

“Oh, yes, you got me, hain’t you. ’Clah to 
goodness if dat conceit o’ yo’n strikes in, Jasper, it 
gwine to kill you sho\ If you b’longed to me I’d 
sell you down de river ’fo’ you git too fur gone. 
Fust time I runs acrost yo’ marster, I’s gwine to 
tell him so.” 

This idle and aimless jabber went on and on, both 
parties enjoying the friendly duel and each well 
satisfied with his own share of the wit exchanged— 
for wit they considered it. 

Wilson stepped to the window to observe the 
combatants; he could not work while their chatter 
continued. Over in the vacant lots was Jasper, 
young, coal-black, and of magnificent build, sitting 
on a wheelbarrow in the pelting sun—at work, sup- 
posably, whereas he was in fact only preparing for 
it by taking an hour’s rest before beginning. In 
front of Wilson’s porch stood Roxy, with a local 
hand-made baby-wagon, in which sat her two 
charges—one at- each end and facing each other. 
From Roxy’s manner of speech, a stranger would 
have expected her to be black, but she was not. 
Only one-sixteenth of her was black, and that six¬ 
teenth did not show. She was of majestic form and 
stature, her attitudes were imposing and statuesque* 
and her gestures and movements distinguished by a 
noble and stately grace. Her complexion was very 
fair, with the rosy glow of vigorous health in the 
cheeks, her face was full of character and expres¬ 
sion, her eyes were brown and liquid, and she had a 
heavy suit of fine soft hair which was also brown, 
but the fact was not apparent because her head was 
n 


MARK TWAIN 

bound about with a checkered handkerchief and the’ 
hair was concealed under it. Her face was shapely, 
intelligent, and comely—even beautiful. She had an 
easy, independent carriage—when she was among 
her own caste—and a high and * ‘sassy” way, withal; 
but of course she was meek and humble enough 
where white people were. 

To all intents and purposes Roxy was as white as 
anybody, but the one-sixteenth of her which was 
black outvoted the other fifteen parts and made her 
a negro. She was a slave, and salable as such. Her 
child was thirty-one parts white, and he, too, was a 
slave, and by a fiction of law and custom a negro. 
He had blue eyes and flaxen curls like his white com¬ 
rade, but even the father of the white child was 
able to tell the children apart—little as he had 
commerce with them—by their clothes; for the white 
babe wore ruffled soft muslin and a coral necklace, 
while the other wore merely a coarse tow-linen shirt 
which barely reached to its knees, and no jewelry. 

The white child’s name was Thomas & Becket 
Driscoll, the other’s name was Valet de Chambre; 
no surname—slaves hadn’t the privilege. Roxana 
had heard that phrase somewhere, the fine sound of 
it had pleased her ear, and as she had supposed it 
was a name, she loaded it onto her darling. It soon 
got shortened to “Chambers,” of course. 

Wilson knew Roxy by sight, and when the duel 
of wit began to play out, he stepped outside to 
gather in a record or two. Jasper went to work 
energetically, at once, perceiving that his leisure was 
observed. Wilson inspected the children and asked: 

12 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

“How old are they, Roxy?” 

“Bofe de same age, sir—five months. Bawn de 
fust o’ Feb’uary.” 

“They’re handsome little chaps. One’s just as 
handsome as the other, too.” 

A delighted smile exposed the girl’s white teeth, f 
and she said: 

“Bless yo’ soul, Misto Wilson, it’s pow’ful nice 
o’ you to say dat, ’ca’se one of ’em ain’t on’y a 
nigger. Mighty prime little nigger, I al’ays says, 
but dat’s ’ca’se it’s mine, o’ course.” 

“How do you tell them apart, Roxy, when they, 
haven’t any clothes on?” 

Roxy laughed a laugh proportioned to her size, ' 
and said: 

“Oh, I kin tell ’em ’part, Misto Wilson, but I 
bet Marse Percy couldn’t, not to save his life.” 

Wilson chatted along for a while, and presently 
got Roxy’s finger-prints for his collection—right 
hand and left—on a couple of his glass strips; then 
labeled and dated them, and took the “records” of 
both children, and labeled and dated them also. 

Two months later, on the 3d of September, he 
took this trio of finger-marks again. He liked to 
have a “series,” two or three “takings” at intervals 
during the period of childhood, these to be followed 
by others at intervals of several years. 

The next day—that is to say, on the 4th of Sep¬ 
tember—something occurred which profoundly im¬ 
pressed Roxana. Mr. Driscoll missed another small 
sum of money—which is a way of saying that this 
was not a new thing, but had happened before. In 
13 


MARK TWAIN 


truth, it had happened three times before. Driscoll’s 
patience was exhausted. He was a fairly humane 
man toward slaves and other animals; he was an 
exceedingly humane man toward the erring of his 
own race. Theft he could not abide, and plainly 
there was a thief in his house. Necessarily the thief 
must be one of his negroes. Sharp measures must 
be taken. He called his servants before him. There 
were three of these, besides Roxy; a man, a woman, 
and a boy twelve years old. They were not related. 
Mr. Driscoll said: 

4 ‘You have all been warned before. It has done 
no good. This time I will teach you a lesson. I 
will sell the thief. Which of you is the guilty one?” 

The}^ all shuddered at the threat, for here they 
had a good home, and a new one was likely to be 
a change for the worse. The denial was general. 
None had stolen anything—not money, anyway— 
a little sugar, or cake, or honey, or something like 
that, that “Marse Percy wouldn’t mind or miss,” 
but not money—never a cent of money. They were 
eloquent in their protestations, but Mr. Driscoll was 
not moved by them. He answered each in turn 
with a stem “Name the thief!” 

The truth was, all were guilty but Roxana; she 
suspected that the others were guilty, but she did 
not know them to be so. She was horrified to think 
how near she had come to being guilty herself; she 
had been saved in the nick of time by a revival in 
the colored Methodist church, a fortnight before, at 
which time and place she “got religion.” The very 
next day after that gracious experience, while her 
14 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

change of style was fresh upon her and she was vain 
of her purified condition, her master left a couple of 
dollars lying unprotected on his desk, and she hap¬ 
pened upon that temptation when she was polishing 
around with a dust-rag. She looked at the money 
awhile with a steadily rising resentment, then she 
burst out with: 

“Dad blame dat revival, I wisht it had V be’n 
put off till to-morrow!” 

Then she covered the tempter with a book, and 
another member of the kitchen cabinet got it. She 
made this sacrifice as a matter of religious etiquette; 
as a thing necessary just now, but by no means to 
be wrested into a precedent; no, a week or two 
would limber up her piety, then she would be 
rational again, and the next two dollars that got 
left out in the cold would find a comforter—and she 
could name the comforter. 

Was she bad? Was she worse than the general 
run of her race? No. They had an unfair show 
in the battle of life, and they held it no sin to take 
military advantage of the enemy—in a small way; 
in a small way, but not in a large one. They would 
smouch provisions from the pantry whenever they 
got a chance; or a brass thimble, or a cake of wax, 
or an emery-bag, or a paper of needles, or a silver 
spoon, or a dollar bill, or small articles of clothing, 
or any other property of light value; and so far 
were they from considering such reprisals sinful, 
that they would go to church and shout and pray 
the loudest and sincerest with their plunder in 
their pockets. A farm smokehouse had to be kept 


MARK TV/AIN 


heavily padlocked, for even the colored deacon him¬ 
self could not resist a ham when Providence showed 
him in a dream, or otherwise, where such a thing 
hung lonesome and longed for some one to love. 
But with a hundred hanging before him the deacon 
would not take two—that is, on the same night. 
On frosty nights the humane negro prowler would 
warm the end of a plank and put it up under the 
cold claws of chickens roosting in a tree; a drowsy 
hen would step onto the comfortable board, softly 
clucking her gratitude, and the prowler would dump 
her into his bag, and later into his stomach, per¬ 
fectly sure that in taking this trifle from the man 
who daily robbed him of an inestimable treasure— 
his liberty—he was not committing any sin that 
God would remember against him in the Last Great 
Day. 

* * Name the thief! ’ 9 

For the fourth time Mr. Driscoll had said it, and 
always in the same hard tone. And now he added 
these words of awful import: 

“I give you one minute”—he took out his watch. 
“If at the end of that time you have not confessed, 
I will not only sell all four of you, but —I will sell 
you down the river!” 

It was equivalent to condemning them to hell! 
No Missouri negro doubted this. Roxy reeled in 
her tracks and the color vanished out of her face; 
the others dropped to their knees as if they had been 
shot; tears gushed from their eyes, their suppli¬ 
cating hands went up, and three answers came in 
the one instant: 

16 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

“I done it!” 

“I done it!” 

“I done it!—have mercy, marster—Lord have 
mercy on us po’ niggers!” 

“Very good,” said the master, putting up his 
watch, “I will sell you here though you don't de¬ 
serve it. You ought to be sold down the river.” 

The culprits flung themselves prone, in an ecstasy 
of gratitude, and kissed his feet, declaring that they 
would never forget his goodness and never cease to 
pray for him as long as they lived. They were 
sincere, for like a god he had stretched forth his 
mighty hand and closed the gates of hell against 
them. He knew, himself, that he had done a noble 
and gracious thing, and was privately well pleased 
with his magnanimity; and that night he set the 
incident down in his diary, so that his son might 
read it in after years, and be thereby moved to 
deeds of gentleness and humanity himself. 


CHAPTER III 


Whoever has lived long enough to find out what life is, knows 
how deep a debt of gratitude we owe to Adam, the first great 
benefactor of our race. He brought death into the world. 


— Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar. 



iERCY DRISCOLL slept well the night he saved 


1 his house-minions from going down the river, 
but no wink of sleep visited Roxy’s eyes. A pro¬ 
found terror had . taken possession of her. Her 
child could grow up and be sold down the river! 
The thought crazed her with horror. If she dozed 
and lost herself for a moment, the next moment she 
was on her feet flying to her child’s cradle to see if 
it was still there. Then she would gather it to her 
heart and pour out her love upon it in a frenzy of 
kisses, moaning, crying, and saying, “Dey sha’n’t, 
oh, dey ska'n't! —yo’ po’ mammy will kill you fust!” 

Once, when she was tucking it back in its cradle 
again, the other child nestled in its sleep and at¬ 
tracted her attention. She went and stood over it 
a long time communing with herself: 

4 ‘What has my po’ baby done, dat he couldn’t 
have yo’ luck? He hain’t done noth’n’. God was 
good to you; why wam’t he good to him? Dey 
can’t sell you down de river. I hates yo’ pappy; 
he hain’t got no heart—for niggers he hain’t, any- 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

ways. I hates him, en I could kill him!” She 
paused awhile, thinking; then she burst into wild 
sobbings again, and turned away, saying, “Oh, I 
got to kill my chile, dey ain’t no yuther way— 
killin’ him wouldn’t save de chile fum goin’ down 
de river. Oh, I got to do it, yo’ po’ mammy’s got 
to kill you to save you, honey”—she gathered her 
baby to her bosom now, and began to smother it 
with caresses—“Mammy’s got to kill you—how kin 
I do it! But yo’ mammy ain’t gwine to desert you 
—no, no; dah, don’t cry—she gwine wid you, she 
gwine to kill herself, too. Come along, honey, 
come along wid mammy; we gwine to jump in de 
river, den de troubles o’ dis worl’ is all over—dey 
don’t sell po’ niggers down the river over yonder .” s 

She started toward the door, crooning to the child 
and hushing it; midway she stopped suddenly. She 
had caught sight of her new Sunday gown—a cheap 
curtain-calico thing, a conflagration of gaudy colors 
and fantastic figures. She surveyed it wistfully, 
longingly. 

“Hain’t ever wore it yet,” she said, “en it’s jist 
lovely.” Then she nodded her head in response to 
a pleasant idea, and added, “No, I ain’t gwine to 
be fished out, wid everybody lookin’ at me, in dis 
mis’able ole linsey-woolsey.” 

She put down the child and made the change* 
She looked in the glass and w r as astonished at her 
beauty. She resolved to make her death-toilet per¬ 
fect. She took off her handkerchief-turban and 
dressed her glossy wealth of hair “like white folks”; 
she added some odds and ends of rather lurid ribbon 

19 


MARK TWAIN 


and a spray of atrocious artificial flowers; finally she 
threw over her shoulders a fluffy thing called a 
“ cloud ” in that day, which was of a blazing red 
complexion. Then she was ready for the tomb. 

She gathered up her baby once more; but when 
her eye fell upon its miserably short little gray tow- 
linen shirt and noted the contrast between its pauper 
shabbiness and her own volcanic irruption of infernal 
splendors, her mother-heart was touched, and she 
was ashamed. 

‘‘No, dolling, mammy ain’t gwine to treat you 
so. De angels is gwine to ’mire you jist as much 
as dey does yo’ mammy. Ain’t gwine to have ’em 
putt’n’ dey han’s up ’fo’ dey eyes en sayin’ to David 
en Goliah en dem yuther prophets, ‘Dat chile is dress*, 
too indelicate fo* dis place.’” 

By this time she had stripped off the shirt. NoWj 
she clothed the naked little creature in one of \ 
Thomas a Becket’s snowy long baby gowns, with its 
bright blue bows and dainty flummery of ruffles. 

“Dah—now you’s fixed.” She propped the child 
in a chair and stood off to inspect it. Straightway 
her eyes began to widen with astonishment and 
admiration, and she clapped her hands and cried 
out, “Why, it do beat all!—I never knowed you was 
so lovely. Marse Tommy ain’t a bit puttier—not 
a single bit.” 

She stepped over and glanced at the other infant; 
she flung a glance back at her own; then one more 
at the heir of the house. Now a strange light 
dawned in her eyes, and in a moment she was lost 
in thought. She seemed in a trance; when she came 
20 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

out of it she muttered, “When I ’uz a-washin’ ’em 
in de tub, yistiddy, his own pappy asked me which 
of ’em was his’n.” 

She began to move about like one in a dream. 
She undressed Thomas a Becket, stripping him of 
everything, and put the tow-linen shirt on him. 
She put his coral necklace on her own child’s neck. 
Then she placed the children side by side, and after 
earnest inspection she muttered: 

“Now who would b’lieve clo’es could do de like 
o’ dat? Dog my cats if it ain’t all I kin do to tell 
t’other fum which, let alone his pappy.” 

She put her cub in Tommy’s elegant cradle and 
said: 

“You’s young Marse Tom fum dis out, en I got 
to practise and git used to ’memberin’ to call you 
dat, honey, or I’s gwine to make a mistake some 
time en git us bofe into trouble. Dah—now you 
lay still en don’t fret no mo’, Marse Tom—oh, 
thank de good Lord in heaven, you’s saved, you’s 
saved!—dey ain’t no man kin ever sell mammy’s 
po’ little honey down de river now!” 

She put the heir of the house in her own child’s 
unpainted pine cradle, and said, contemplating its 
slumbering form uneasily: 

“I’s sorry for you, honey; I’s sorry, God knows 
I is,—but what kin I do, what could I do? Yo’ 
pappy would sell him to somebody, some time, en 
den he’d go down de river, sho’, en I couldn’t, 
couldn’t, couldn't stan’ it.” 

She flung herself on her bed and began to think 
and toss, toss and think. By and by she sat sud- 


MARK TWAIN 


denly upright, for a comforting thought had flown 
through her worried mind: 

“’Tain’t no sin —white folks has done it! It ain’t 
no sin, glory to goodness it ain’t no sin! Dey's done 
it—yes, en dey was de biggest quality in de whole 
bilin’, too— kings /” 

She began to muse; she was trying to gather out 
of her memory the dim particulars of some tale she 
had heard some time or other. At last she said: 

“Now I’s got it; now I ’member. It was dat 
ole nigger preacher dat tole it, de time he come over 
here fum Illinois en preached in de nigger church. 
He said dey ain’t nobody kin save his own self— 
can’t do it by faith, can’t do it by works, can’t do 
it no way at all. Free grace is de on'y way, en dat 
don’t come fum nobody but jis’ de Lord; en he kin 
give it to anybody he please, saint or sinner —he 
don’t kyer. He do jis’ as he’s a mineter. He 
s’lect out anybody dat suit him, en put another one 
in his place, en make de fust one happy forever en 
leave t’other one to burn wid Satan. De preacher 
said it was jist like dey done in Englan’ one time, 
long time ago. De queen she lef’ her baby layin’ 
aroun’ one day, en went out callin’; en one o’ de 
niggers roun’ ’bout de place dat was ’mos’ white, > 
she come in en see de chile layin’ aroun’, en tuck 
en put her own chile’s clo’es on de queen’s chile, 
en put de queen’s chile’s clo’es on her own chile, 
en den lef’ her own chile layin’ aroun’ en tuck en 
toted de queen’s chile home to de nigger quarter, 
en nobody ever foun’ it out, en her child was de 
king bimeby, en sole de queen’s chile down de river 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 


one time when dey had to settle up de estate. Dah, 
now—de preacher said it his own self, en it ain’t 
no sin, ’ca’se white folks done- it. Dey done it— 
yes, dey done it; en not on’y jis’ common white 
folks nuther, but de biggest quality dey is in de 
whole bilin’. Oh, I’s so glad I ’member ’bout dat!” 

She got up right-hearted and happy, and went to 
the cradles and spent what was left of the night 
“practising.” She would give her own child a 
light pat and say humbly, “Lay still, Marse Tom,” 
then give the real Tom a pat and say with severity, 
“Lay still , Chambers!—does you want me to take 
somep’n’ to you?” 

As she progressed with her practice, she was sur¬ 
prised to see how steadily and surely the awe which 
had kept her tongue reverent and her manner 
humble toward her young master was transferring 
itself to her speech and manner toward the usurper, 
and how similarly handy she was becoming in trans¬ 
ferring her motherly curtness of speech and peremp¬ 
toriness of manner to the unlucky heir of the ancient 
house of Driscoll. 

She took occasional rests from practising, and 
absorbed herself in calculating her chances. 

“Dey’ll sell dese niggers to-day fo’ stealin’ de 
money, den dey’ll buy some mo’ dat don’t know 
de chillen—so dafs all right. When I takes de 
chillen out to git de air, de minute I’s roun’ de cor¬ 
ner I’s gwine to gaum dey mouths all roun’ wid jam, 
den dey can’t nobody notice dey’s changed. Yes, I 
gwineter do dat till I’s safe, if it’s a year. 

“Dey ain’t but one man dat I’s afeard of, en 
23 


MARK TWAIN 


dat’s dat Pudd’nhead Wilson. Dey calls him a 
pudd’nhead, en says he’s a fool. My lan’, dat man 
ain’t no mo’ fool den I is! He’s de smartes’ man in 
dis town, less’n it’s Jedge Driscoll or maybe Pern, 
Howard. Blame dat man, he worries me wid dem 
ornery glasses o’ his’n; I b’lieve he’s a witch. But 
nemmine, I’s gwine to happen aroun’ dah one o’ 
dese days en let on dat I reckon he wants to print 
de chillen’s fingers ag’in; en if he don’t notice dey’s 
changed, I bound dey ain’t nobody gwine to notice 
it, en den I’s safe, sho’. But I reckon I’ll take along 
a hoss-shoe to keep off de witch work.” 

The new negroes gave Roxy no trouble, of course. 
The master gave her none, for one of his specula¬ 
tions was in jeopardy, and his mind was so occupied 
that he hardly saw the children when he looked at 
them, and all Roxy had to do was to get them both 
into a gale of laughter when he came about; then 
their faces were mainly cavities exposing gums, and 
he was gone again before the spasm passed and the 
little creatures resumed a human aspect. 

Within a few days the fate of the speculation be¬ 
came so dubious that Mr. Percy went away with his 
brother the Judge, to see what could be done with 
it. It was a land speculation, as usual, and it had 
gotten complicated with a lawsuit. The men were 
gone seven weeks. Before they got back Roxy had 
paid her visit to Wilson, and was satisfied. Wilson 
took the finger-prints, labeled them with the names 
and the date—October the first—put them care¬ 
fully away and continued his chat with Roxy, who 
seemed very anxious that he should admire the 


24 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 


great advance in flesh and beauty which the babies 
had made since he took their finger-prints a month 
before. He complimented their improvement to her 
contentment; and as they were without any disguise 
of jam or other stain, she trembled all the while and 
was miserably frightened lest at any moment he— 
But he didn’t. He discovered nothing; and she 
went home jubilant, and dropped all concern about 
the matter permanently out of her mind. 

3 


CHAPTER IV 


Adam and Eve had many advantages, but the principal one 
was, that they escaped teething.— Pudd'nhead Wilson's Calendar. 

There is this trouble about special providences—namely, 
there is so often a doubt as to which party was intended to be 
the beneficiary. In the case of the children, the bears, and the 
prophet, the bears got more real satisfaction out of the episode 
than the prophet did, because they got the children. 


— Pudd’nhead Wilson's Calendar. 



l HIS history must henceforth accommodate it- 


i self to the change which Bx>xana has consum¬ 
mated, and call the real heir “ Chambers ” and the 
usurping little slave “Thomas a Bechet”—shorten¬ 
ing this latter name to “Tom,” for daily use, as 
the people about him did. 

“Tom” was a bad baby from the very beginning 
of his usurpation. He would cry for nothing; he 
would burst into storms of devilish temper without 
notice, and let go scream after scream and squall 
after squall, then climax the thing with “holding 
his breath”—that frightful specialty of the teething 
nursling, in the throes of which the creature ex¬ 
hausts its lungs, then is convulsed with noiseless 
squirmings and twistings and kickings in the effort 
to get its breath, while the lips turn blue and the 
mouth stands wide and rigid, offering for inspection 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

one wee tooth set in the lower rim of a hoop of red 
gums; and when the appalling stillness has endured 
until one is sure the lost breath will nevgr return, a 
nurse comes flying, and dashes water in the child’s 
face, and—presto! the lungs fill, and instantly dis¬ 
charge a shriek, or a yell, or a howl which bursts 
the listening ear and surprises the owner of it into 
saying words which would not go well with a halo if 
he had one. The baby Tom would claw anybody 
who came within reach of his nails, and pound any¬ 
body he could reach with his rattle. He would 
scream for water until he got it, and then throw cup 
and all on the floor and scream for more. He was 
indulged in all his caprices, howsoever troublesome 
and exasperating they might be; he was allowed to 
eat anything he wanted, particularly things that 
would give him the stomach-ache. 

When he got to be old enough to begin to toddle 
about and say broken words and get an idea of what 
his hands were for, he was a more consummate pest 
than ever. Roxy got no rest while he was awake. 
He would call for anything and everything he saw, 
simply saying, “Awnt it!” (want it) which was a 
command. When it was brought, he said in a 
frenzy, and motioning it away with his hands, 
“Don’t awnt it! don’t awnt it!” and the moment 
it was gone he set up frantic yells of “Awnt it! 
awnt it! awnt it!” and Roxy had to give wings to 
her heels to get that thing back to him again before 
he could get time to carry out his intention of going 
into convulsions about it. 

What he preferred above all other things was the 

27 


MARK TWAIN 


tongs. This was because his ‘‘father” had for¬ 
bidden him to have them lest he break windows and 
furniture with them. The moment Roxy’s back was 
turned he would toddle to the presence of the tongs 
and say, “Like it!” and cock his eye to one side 
to see if Roxy was observing; then, “Awnt it!” 
and cock his eye again; then, “Hab it!” with an¬ 
other furtive glance; and finally, “Take it!”—and 
the prize was his. The next moment the heavy 
implement was raised aloft; the next, there was a 
crash and a squall, and the cat was off on three legs 
to meet an engagement; Roxy would arrive just as 
the lamp or a window went to irremediable smash. 

Tom got all the petting, Chambers got none. 
Tom got all the delicacies, Chambers got mush and 
milk, and clabber without sugar. In consequence, 
Tom was a sickly child and Chambers wasn’t. Tom 
was “fractious,” as Roxy called it, and overbear¬ 
ing; Chambers was meek and docile. 

With all her splendid common sense and practical 
every-day ability, Roxy was a doting fool of a mother. 
She was this toward her child—and she was also 
more than this; by the fiction created by herself, 
he was become her master; the necessity of recog¬ 
nizing this relation outwardly and of perfecting 
herself in the forms required to express the recog¬ 
nition, had moved her to such diligence and faithful¬ 
ness in practising these forms that this exercise soon 
concreted itself into habit; it became automatic and 
unconscious; then a natural result followed; decep¬ 
tions intended solely for others gradually grew 
practically into self-deceptions as well; the mock 
28 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 


reverence became real reverence, the mock obse¬ 
quiousness real obsequiousness, the mock homage 
real homage; the little counterfeit rift of separation 
between imitation slave and imitation master wid¬ 
ened and widened, and became an abyss, and a very 
real one—and on one side of it stood Roxy, the dupe 
of her own deceptions, and on the other stood her 
child, no longer a usurper to her, but her accepted 
and recognized master. He was her darling, he-r 
master, and her deity all in one, and in her worship 
of him she forgot who she was and what he had 
been. 

In babyhood Tom cuffed and banged and scratched 
Chambers unrebuked, and Chambers early learned 
that between meekly bearing it and resenting it, the 
advantage all lay with the former policy. The few 
times that his persecutions had moved him beyond 
control and made him fight back had cost him very 
dear at headquarters; not at the hands of Roxy, for 
if she ever went beyond scolding him sharply for 
“forgitt’n’ who his young marster was,” she at 
least never extended her punishment beyond a box 
on the ear. No, Percy Driscoll was the person. 
He told Chambers that under no provocation what¬ 
ever was he privileged to lift his hand against his 
little master. Chambers overstepped the line three 
times, and got three such convincing canings from 
the man who was his father and didn’t know it, that 
he took Tom’s cruelties in all humility after that, 
and made no more experiments. 

Outside of the house the two boys were together 
all through their boyhood. Chambers was strong 
20 


MARK TWAIN 


beyond his years, and a good fighter; strong be¬ 
cause he was coarsely fed and hard-worked about 
the house, and a good fighter because Tom furnished 
him plenty of practice—on white boys whom he 
hated and was afraid of. Chambers was his con¬ 
stant body-guard, to and from school; he was 
present on the playground at recess to protect his 
charge. He fought himself into such a formidable 
reputation, by and by, that Tom could have changed 
clothes with him, and “ridden in peace,” like Sir 
Kay in Launcelot’s armor. 

He was good at games of skill, too. Tom staked 
him with marbles to play “keeps” with, and then 
took all the winnings away from him. In the winter 
season Chambers was on hand, in Tom’s worn-out 
clothes, with “holy” red mittens, and “holy” shoes, 
and pants “holy” at the knees and seat, to drag a 
sled up the hill for Tom, warmly clad, to ride down 
on; but he never got a ride himself. He built snow 
men and snow fortifications under Tom’s directions. 
He was Tom’s patient target when Tom wanted to 
do some snowballing, but the target couldn’t fire 
back. Chambers carried Tom’s skates to the river 
and strapped them on him, then trotted around 
after him on the ice, so as to be on hand when 
wanted; but he wasn’t ever asked to try the skates 
himself. 

In summer the pet pastime of the boys of Daw¬ 
son’s Landing was to steal apples, peaches, and 
melons from the farmers’ fruit-wagons—mainly on 
account of the risk they ran of getting their heads 
laid open with the butt of the farmer’s whip, Tom 

30 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 


was a distinguished adept at these thefts—by 
proxy. Chambers did his stealing, and got the 
peach-stones, apple-cores, and melon-rinds for his 
share. 

Tom always made Chambers go in swimming with 
him, and stay by him as a protection. When Tom 
had had enough, he would slip out and tie knots in 
Chambers’s shirt, dip the knots in the water to make 
them hard to undo, then dress himself and sit by 
and laugh while the naked shiverer tugged at the 
stubborn knots with his teeth. 

Tom did his humble comrade these various ill 
turns partly out of native viciousness, and partly 
because he hated him for his superiorities of physique 
and pluck, and for his manifold clevernesses. Tom 
couldn’t dive, for it gave him splitting headaches. 
Chambers could dive without inconvenience, and was 
fond of doing it. He excited so much admiration, 
one day, among a crowd of white boys, by throw¬ 
ing back somersaults from the stern of a canoe, 
that it wearied Tom’s spirit, and at last he shoved 
the canoe underneath Chambers while he was in the 
air—so he came down on his head in tho canoe- 
bottom; and while he lay unconscious, several of 
Tom’s ancient adversaries saw that their long- 
desired opportunity was come, and they gave the 
false heir such a drubbing that with Chambers’s 
best help he was hardly able to drag himself home 
afterward. 

When the boys were fifteen and upward, Tom 
was “showing off” in the river one day, when he 
was taken with a cramp, and shouted for help. It 
3i 


MARK TWAIN 


was a common trick with the boys—particularly if 
a stranger was present—to pretend a cramp and 
howl for help; then when the stranger came tearing 
hand over hand to the rescue, the howler would go 
on struggling and howling till he was close at hand, 
then replace the howl with a sarcastic smile and 
swim blandly away, while the town boys assailed the 
dupe with a volley of jeers and laughter. Tom had 
never tried this joke as yet, but was supposed to be 
trying it now, so the boys held warily back; but 
Chambers believed his master was in earnest, there¬ 
fore he swam out, and arrived in time, unfortunately, 
and saved his life. 

This was the last feather. Tom had managed to 
endure everything else, but to have to remain pub¬ 
licly and permanently under such an obligation as 
this to a nigger, and to this nigger of all niggers— 
this was too much. He heaped insults upon Cham¬ 
bers for “pretending” to think he was in earnest in 
calling for help, and said that anybody but a block¬ 
headed nigger would have known he was funning 
and left him alone. 

Tom’s enemies were in strong force here, so they 
came out with their opinions quite freely. They 
laughed at him, and called him coward, liar, sneak, 
and other sorts of pet names, and told him they 
meant to call Chambers by a new name after this, 
and make it common in the town—'‘Tom Driscoll’s 
niggerpappy”—to signify that he had had a second 
birth into this life, and that Chambers was the 
author of his new being. Tom grew frantic under 
these taunts, and shouted: 

3.2 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

“Knock their heads off, Chambers! knock their 
heads off! What do you stand there with your 
hands in your pockets for?” 

Chambers expostulated, and said, “But, Marse 
Tom, dey’s too many of ’em—dey’s—” 

“Do you hear me?” 

“Please, Marse Tom, don’t make me! Dey’s so 
many of ’em dat—” 

Tom sprang at him and drove his pocket-knife 
into him two or three times before the boys could 
snatch him away and give the wounded lad a chance 
to escape. He was considerably hurt, but not seri¬ 
ously. If the blade had been a little longer his 
career would have ended there. 

Tom had long ago taught Roxy “her place.” It 
had been many a day now since she had ventured a 
caress or a fondling epithet in his quarter. Such 
things, from a “nigger,” were repulsive to him, and 
she had been warned to keep her distance and re¬ 
member who she was. She saw her darling gradually 
cease from being her son, she saw that detail perish 
utterly; all that was left was master—master, pure 
and simple, and it was not a gentle mastership, 
either. She saw herself sink from the sublime height 
of motherhood to the somber depths of unmodified 
slavery. The abyss of separation between her and 
her boy was complete. She was merely his chattel 
now, his convenience, his dog, his cringing and 
helpless slave, the humble and unresisting victim of 
his capricious temper and vicious nature. 

Sometimes she could not go to sleep, even when 
worn out with fatigue, because her rage boiled so 
33 


MARK TWAIN 


high over the day’s experiences with her boy. She 
would mumble and mutter to herself: 

“He struck me, en I warn’t no way to blame— 
struck me in de face, right before folks. En he’s 
al’ays callin’ me nigger-wench, en hussy, en all dem 
mean names, when I’s doin’ de very bes’ I kin. 
Oh, Lord, I done so much for him—I lift’ him away 
up to what he is—en dis is what I git for it.” 

Sometimes when some outrage of peculiar offen¬ 
siveness stung her to the heart, she would plan 
schemes of vengeance and revel in the fancied spec¬ 
tacle of his exposure to the world as an impostor 
and a slave; but in the midst of these joys fear 
would strike her; she had made him too strong; 
she could prove nothing, and—heavens, she might 
get sold down the river for her pains! So her 
schemes always went for nothing, and she laid them 
aside in impotent rage against the fates, and against 
herself for playing the fool on that fatal September 
day in not providing herself with a witness for use 
in the day when such a thing might be needed for 
the appeasing of her vengeance-hungry heart. 

And yet the moment Tom happened to be good 
to her, and kind—and this occurred every now and 
then—all her sore places were healed, and she was 
happy; happy and proud, for this was her son, her 
nigger son, lording it among the whites and securely 
avenging their crimes against her race. 

There were two grand funerals in Dawson’s Land¬ 
ing that fall—the fall of 1845. One was that of 
Colonel Cecil Burleigh Essex, the other that of 
Percy Driscoll. 


34 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 


On his death-bed Driscoll set Roxy free and de¬ 
livered his idolized ostensible son solemnly into the 
keeping of his brother the Judge, and his wife. 
Those childless people were glad to get him. Child¬ 
less people are not difficult to please. 

Judge Driscoll had gone privately to his brother, 
a month before, and bought Chambers. He had 
heard that Tom had been trying to get his father 
to sell the boy down the river, and he wanted to 
prevent the scandal—for public sentiment did not 
approve of that way of treating family servants for 
light cause or for no cause. 

Percy Driscoll had worn himself out in trying to 
save his great speculative landed estate, and had 
died without succeeding. He was hardly in his 
grave before the boom collapsed and left his hitherto 
envied young devil of an heir a pauper. But that 
was nothing; his uncle told him he should be his 
heir and have all his fortune when he died; so Tom 
was comforted. 

Rox}^ had no home now; so she resolved to go 
around and say good-by to her friends and then 
clear out and see the world—that is to say, she would 
go chambermaiding on a steamboat, the darling 
ambition of her race and sex. 

Her last call was on the black giant, Jasper. She 
found him chopping Pudd’nhead Wilson’s winter 
provision of wood. 

Wilson was chatting with him when Roxy arrived. 
He asked her how she could bear to go off chamber- 
maiding and leave her boys;. and chaffingly offered 
to copy off a series of their finger-prints, reaching 
35 


MARK TWAIN 


up to their twelfth year, for her to remember them 
by; but she sobered in a moment, wondering if he 
suspected anything; then she said she believed she 
didn’t want them. Wilson said to himself, ‘‘The 
drop of black blood in her is superstitious; she 
thinks there’s some devilry, some witch business 
about my glass mystery somewhere; she used to 
come here with an old horseshoe in her hand; it 
could have been an accident, but I doubt it.” 


CHAPTER V 


Training is everything. The peach was once a bitter almond; 
cauliflower is nothing but cabbage with a college education. 

— Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar. 

Remark of Dr. Baldwin’s, concerning upstarts: We don’t care 
to eat toadstools that think they are truffles. 

— Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar. 

M RS. YORK DRISCOLL enjoyed two years 
, of bliss with that prize, Tom—bliss that was 
troubled a little at times, it is true, but bliss nev¬ 
ertheless; then she died, and her husband and his 
childless sister, Mrs. Pratt, continued the bliss busi¬ 
ness at the old stand. Tom was petted and in¬ 
dulged and spoiled to his entire content—or nearly 
that. This went on till he was nineteen, then he 
was sent to Yale. He went handsomely equipped 
with “ conditions,” but otherwise he was not an 
object of distinction there. He remained at Yale 
two years, and then threw up the struggle. He came 
home with his manners a good deal improved; he 
had lost his surliness and brusqueness, and was 
rather pleasantly soft and smooth now: he was 
furtively, and sometimes openly, ironical of speech, 
and given to gently touching people on the raw, but 
he did it with a good-natured semiconscious air that 
carried it off safely, and kept him from getting into 
37 


MARK TWAIN 


trouble. He was as indolent as ever and showed no 
very strenuous desire to hunt up an occupation. 
People argued from this that he preferred to be sup¬ 
ported by his uncle until his uncle’s shoes should 
become vacant. He brought back one or two new 
habits with him, one of which he rather openly 
practised—tippling—but concealed another, which 
was gambling. It would not do to gamble where 
his uncle could hear of it; he knew that quite well. 

Tom’s Eastern polish was not popular among the 
young people. They could have endured it, per¬ 
haps, if Tom had stopped there; but he wore gloves, 
and that they couldn’t stand, and wouldn’t; so he 
was mainly without society. He brought home with 
him a suit of clothes of such exquisite style and cut 
and fashion—Eastern fashion, city fashion—that it 
filled everybody with anguish and was regarded as 
a peculiarly wanton affront. He enjoyed the feel¬ 
ing which he was exciting, and paraded the town 
serene and happy all day; but the young fellows set 
a tailor to work that night, and when Tom started 
out on his parade next morning he found the old 
deformed negro bell-ringer straddling along in his 
wake tricked out in a flamboyant curtain-calico 
exaggeration of his finery, and imitating his fancy 
Eastern graces as well as he could. 

Tom surrendered, and after that clothed himself 
in the local fashion. But the dull country-town was 
tiresome to him since his acquaintanceship with 
livelier regions, and it grew daily more and more so. 
He began to make little trips to St. Louis for refresh¬ 
ment. There he found companionship to suit him, 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

and pleasures to his taste, along with more freedom, 
in some particulars, than he could have at home. 
So, during the next tw T o years his visits to the city 
grew in frequency and his tarryings there grew 
steadily longer in duration. 

He was getting into deep waters. He was taking 
chances, privately, which might get him into trouble 
some day—in fact, did. 

Judge Driscoll had retired from the bench and 
from all business activities in 1850, and had now 
been comfortably idle three years. He was presi¬ 
dent of the Free-thinkers’ Society, and Pudd’nhead 
Wilson was the other member. The society’s weekly 
discussions were now the old lawyer’s main interest 
in life. Pudd’nhead was still toiling in obscurity at 
the bottom of the ladder, under the blight of that 
unlucky remark which he had let fall twenty-three 
years before about the dog. 

Judge Driscoll was his friend, and claimed that he 
had a mind above the average, but that was regarded 
as one of the Judge’s whims, and it failed to modify 
the public opinion. Or, rather, that was one of the 
reasons why it failed, but there was another and 
better one. If the Judge had stopped with bare 
assertion, it would have had a good deal of effect; 
but he made the mistake of trying to prove his 
position. For some years Wilson had been privately 
at work on a whimsical almanac, for his amusement 
—a calendar, with a little dab of ostensible philos¬ 
ophy, usually in ironical form, appended to each 
date; and the Judge thought that these quips and 
fancies of Wilson’s w T ere neatly turned and cute; so 
39 


MARK TWAIN 


he carried a handful of them around one day, and 
read them to some of the chief citizens. But irony 
was not for those people; their mental vision was 
not focused for it. They read those playful trifles 
in the solidest earnest, and decided without hesi¬ 
tancy that if there had ever been any doubt that 
Dave Wilson was a pudd’nhead—which there hadn’t 
—this revelation removed that doubt for good and 
all. That is just the way in this world; an enemy 
can partly ruin a man, but it takes a good-natured 
injudicious friend to complete the thing and make it 
perfect. After this the Judge felt tenderer than ever 
toward Wilson, and surer than ever that his calendar 
had merit. 

Judge Driscoll could be a free-thinker and still 
hold his place in society, because he was the person 
of most consequence in the community, and there¬ 
fore could venture to go his own way and follow out 
his own notions. The other member of his pet 
organization was allowed the like liberty because he 
was a cipher in the estimation of the public, and 
nobody attached any importance to what he thought 
or did. He was liked, he was welcome enough all 
around, but he simply didn’t count for anything. 

The widow Cooper—affectionately called “Aunt 
Patsy” by everybody—lived in a snug and comely 
cottage with her daughter Rowena, who was nine¬ 
teen, romantic, amiable, and very pretty, but other¬ 
wise of no consequence. Rowena had a couple of 
young brothers—also of no consequence. 

The widow had a large spare room which she let 
to a lodger, with board, when she could find one, 
40 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

but this room had been empty for a year now, to 
her sorrow. Her income was only sufficient for the 
family support, and she needed the lodging-money 
for trifling luxuries. But now, at last, on a flaming 
June day, she found herself happy; her tedious wait 
was ended; her year-worn advertisement had been 
answered; and not by a village applicant, oh, no!— 
this letter was from away off yonder in the dim great 
world to the north; it was from St. Louis. She 
sat on her porch gazing out with unseeing eyes upon 
the shining reaches of the mighty Mississippi, her 
thoughts steeped in her good fortune. Indeed, it 
was specially good fortune, for she was to have two 
lodgers instead of one. 

She had read the letter to the family, and Rowena 
had danced away to see to the cleaning and airing 
of the room by the slave woman Nancy, and the 
boys had rushed abroad in the town to spread the 
great news, for it was matter of public interest, and 
the public would wonder and not be pleased if not 
informed. Presently Rowena returned, all ablush 
with joyous excitement, and begged for a rereading 
of the letter. It was framed thus: 

Honored Madam: My brother and I have seen your adver¬ 
tisement, by chance, and beg leave to take the room you offer. 
We are twenty-four years of age and twins. We are Italians by 
birth, but have lived long in the various countries of Europe, 
and several years in the United States. Our names are Luigi 
and Angelo Capello. You desire but one guest; but, dear 
Madam, if you will allow us to pay for two, we will not incom¬ 
mode you. We shall be down Thursday. 

'‘Italians! How romantic! Just think, ma— 
there’s never been one in this town, and everybody 
4 * 


4 


MARK TWAIN 


will be dying to see them and they're all ours! 
Think of that!” 

“Yes, I reckon they’ll make a grand stir.” 

“Oh, indeed they will. The whole town will be 
on its head! Think—they’ve been in Europe and 
everywhere! There's never been a traveler in this 
town before. Ma, I shouldn’t wonder if they’ve 
seen kings!” 

“Well, a body can’t tell; but they’ll make stir 
enough, without that.” 

“Yes, that’s of course. Luigi—Angelo. They’re 
lovely names; and so grand and foreign—not like 
Jones and Robinson and such. Thursday they are 
coming, and this is only Tuesday; it’s a cruel long 
time to wait. Here comes Judge Driscoll in at the 
gate. He’s heard about it. I’ll go and open the 
door.” 

The Judge was full of congratulations and curi¬ 
osity. The letter was read and discussed. Soon 
Justice Robinson arrived with more congratulations, 
and there was a new reading and a new discussion. 
This was the beginning. Neighbor after neighbor, 
of both sexes, followed, and the procession drifted 
in and out all day and evening, and all Wednesday 
and Thursday. The letter was read and reread 
until it was nearly worn out; everybody admired its 
courtly and gracious tone, and smooth and practised 
style, everybody was sympathetic and excited, and 
the Coopers were steeped in happiness all the while. 

The boats were very uncertain in low water in 
these primitive times. This time the Thursday boat 
had not arrived at ten at night—so the people had 
42 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 


waited at the landing all day for nothing; they were 
driven to their homes by a heavy storm without 
having had a view of the illustrious foreigners. 

Eleven o’clock came; and the Cooper house was 
the only one in the town that still had lights burn¬ 
ing. The rain and thunder were booming yet, and 
the anxious family were still waiting, still hoping. 
At last there was a knock at the door and the family 
jumped to open it. Two negro men entered, each 
carrying a trunk, and proceeded up-stairs toward 
the guest-room. Then entered the twins—the hand¬ 
somest, the best dressed, the most distinguished- 
looking pair of young fellows the West had ever 
seen. One was a little fairer than the other, but 
otherwise they were exact duplicates. 


CHAPTER VI 


Let us endeavor so to live that when we come to die even 
the undertaker will be sorry.— Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar. 

Habit is habit, and not to be flung out of the window by any 
man, but coaxed down-stairs a step at a time. 

— Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar. 

T breakfast in the morning the twins’ charm of 



manner and easy and polished bearing made 
speedy conquest of the family’s good graces. All 
constraint and formality quickly disappeared, and 
the friendliest feeling succeeded. Aunt Patsy called 
them by their Christian names almost from the be¬ 
ginning. She was full of the keenest curiosity about 
them, and showed it; they responded by talking 
about themselves, which pleased her greatly. It 
presently appeared that in their early youth they 
had known poverty and hardship. As the talk wan¬ 
dered along the old lady watched for the right place 
to drop in a question or two concerning that matter, 
and when she found it she said to the blond twin 
who was now doing the biographies in his turn while 
the brunette one rested: 

“If it ain’t asking what I ought not to ask, Mr. 
Angelo, how did you come to be so friendless and 
in such trouble when you were little? Do you mind 
telling? But don’t if you do.” 


44 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

4 ‘Oh, we don’t mind it at all, madam; in our 
case it was merely misfortune, and nobody’s fault. 
Our parents were well to do, there in Italy, and we 
werejtheir only child. We were of the old Floren¬ 
tine nobility”—Rowena’s heart gave a great bound, 
her nostrils expanded, and a fine light played in her 
eyes—“and when the war broke out my father was 
on the losing side and had to fly for his life. His 
estates were confiscated, his personal property 
seized, and there we were, in Germany, strangers, 
friendless, and, in fact, paupers. My brother and I 
were ten years old, and well educated for that age, 
very studious, very fond of our books, and well 
grounded in the German, French, Spanish, and 
English languages. Also, we were marvelous musi¬ 
cal prodigies—if you will allow me to say it, it 
being only the truth. 

“Our father survived his misfortunes only a 
month, our mother soon followed him, and we were 
alone in the world. Our parents could have made 
themselves comfortable by exhibiting us as a show, 
and they had many and large offers; but the thought 
revolted their pride, and they said they would starve 
and die first. But what they wouldn’t consent to 
do we had to do without the formality of consent. 
We were seized for the debts occasioned by their 
illness and their funerals, and placed among the 
attractions of a cheap museum in Berlin to earn the 
liquidation money. It took us two years to get out 
of that slavery. We traveled all about Germany re¬ 
ceiving no wages, and not even our keep. We had 
to be exhibited for nothing, and beg our bread. 

45 


MARK TWAIN 


“Well, madam, the rest is not of much conse¬ 
quence. When we escaped from that slavery at 
twelve years of age, we were in some respects men. 
Experience had taught us some valuable things; 
among other, how to take care of ourselves, how to 
avoid and defeat sharks and sharpers, and how to 
conduct our own business for our own profit and 
without other people’s help. We traveled every¬ 
where—years and years—picking up smatterings 
of strange tongues, familiarizing ourselves with 
strange sights and strange customs, accumulating 
an education of a wide and varied and curi¬ 
ous sort. It was a pleasant life. We went to 
Venice—to London, Paris, Russia, India, China, Ja¬ 
pan—” 

At this point Nancy, the slave woman, thrust her 
head in at the door and exclaimed: 

“Ole Missus, de house is plum’ jam full o’ peo¬ 
ple, en dey’s jes’ a-spi’lin to see de gen’lmen!” 
She indicated the twins with a nod of her head, and 
tucked it back out of sight again. 

It was a proud occasion for the widow, and she 
promised herself high satisfaction in showing off her 
fine foreign birds before her neighbors and friends— 
simple folk who had hardly ever seen a foreigner of 
any kind, and never one of any distinction or style. 
Yet her feeling was moderate indeed when con¬ 
trasted with Rowena’s. Rowena was in the clouds, 
she walked on air; this was to be the greatest day, 
the most romantic episode, in the colorless history 
of that dull country-town. She was to be familiarly 
near the source of its glory and feel the full flood of 
46 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

it pour over her and about her; the other girls could 
only gaze and envy, not partake. 

The widow was ready, Rowena was ready, so also 
were the foreigners. 

The party moved along the hall, the twins in ad¬ 
vance, and entered the open parlor door, whence 
issued a low hum of conversation. The twins took 
a position near the door, the widow stood at Luigi’s 
side, Rowena stood beside Angelo, and the march- 
past and the introductions began. The widow was 
all smiles and contentment. She received the pro¬ 
cession and passed it on to Rowena. 

“Good momin’, Sister Cooper”—handshake. 

“Good morning, Brother Higgins—Count Luigi 
Capello, Mr. Higgins”—handshake, followed by a 
devouring stare and “I’m glad to see ye,” on the 
part of Higgins, and a courteous inclination of the 
head and a pleasant “Most happy!” on the part of 
Count Luigi. 

“Good mornin’, Roweny”—handshake. 

“Good morning, Mr. Higgins—present you to 
Count Angelo Capello. ’ ’ Handshake, admiring stare, 
“Glad to see ye,”—courteous nod, smily “Most 
happy!” and Higgins passes on. 

None of these visitors was at ease, but, being 
honest people, they didn’t pretend to be. None of 
them had ever seen a person bearing a title of 
nobility before, and none had been expecting to see 
one now, consequently the title came upon them as 
a kind of pile-driving surprise and caught them un¬ 
prepared. A few tried to rise to the emergency, 
and got out an awkward “My lord,” or “Your 

47 


MARK TWAIN 


lordship,” or something of that sort, but the great 
majority were overwhelmed by the unaccustomed 
word and its dim and awful associations with gilded 
courts and stately ceremony and anointed kingship, 
so they only fumbled through the handshake and 
passed on speechless. Now and then, as happens 
at all receptions everywhere, a more than ordinarily 
friendly soul blocked the procession and kept it 
waiting while he inquired how the brothers liked the 
village, and how long they were going to stay, and 
if their families were well, and dragged in the 
weather, and hoped it would get cooler soon, and 
all that sort of thing, so as to be able to say, when 
they got home, “I had quite a long talk with them.”; 
but nobody did or said anything of a regrettable 
kind, and so the great affair went through to the 
end in a creditable and satisfactory fashion. 

General conversation followed, and the twins 
drifted about from group to group, talking easily 
and fluently and winning approval, compelling ad¬ 
miration and achieving favor from all. The widow 
followed their conquering march with a proud eye, 
and every now and then Rowena said to herself with 
deep satisfaction, “And to think they are ours— 
all ours!” 

There were no idle moments for mother or 
daughter. Eager inquiries concerning the twins 
were pouring into their enchanted ears all the time; 
each was the constant center of a group of breathless 
listeners; each recognized that she knew now for 
the first time the real meaning of that great word 
Glory, and perceived the stupendous value of it, 
48 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

and understood why men in all ages had been 
willing to throw away meaner happinesses, treasure, 
life itself, to get a taste of its sublime and supreme 
joy. Napoleon and all his kind stood accounted for 
—and justified. 

When Rowena had at last done all her duty by 
the people in the parlor, she went up-stairs to satisfy 
the longings of an overflow-meeting there, for the 
parlor was not big enough to hold all the comers. 
Again she was besieged by eager questioners and 
again she swam in sunset seas of glory. When the 
forenoon was nearly gone, she recognized with a 
pang that this most splendid episode of her life was 
almost over, that nothing could prolong it, that 
nothing quite its equal could ever fall to her fortune 
again. But never mind, it was sufficient unto itself, 
the grand occasion had moved on an ascending scale 
from the start, and was a noble and memorable 
success. If the twins could but do some crowning 
act now to climax it, something unusual, something 
startling, something to concentrate upon themselves 
the company's loftiest admiration, something in the 
nature of an electric surprise— 

Here a prodigious slam-banging broke out below, 
and everybody rushed down to see. It was the 
twins knocking out a classic four-handed piece on 
the piano in great style. Rowena was satisfied— 
satisfied down to the bottom of her heart. 

The young strangers were kept long at the piano. 
The villagers were astonished and enchanted with 
the magnificence of their performance, and could 
not bear to have them stop. All the music that 
49 


MARK TWAIN 


they had ever heard before seemed spiritless prentice- 
work and barren of grace or charm when compared 
with these intoxicating floods of melodious sound. 
They realized that for once in their lives they were 
hearing masters. 


CHAPTER VII 


One of the most striking differences between a cat and a lie 
is that a cat has only nine Hves.— Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar. 



TIE company broke up reluctantly, and drifted 


1 toward their several homes, chatting with vi¬ 
vacity, and all agreeing that it would be many a 
long day before Dawson’s Landing would see the 
equal of this one again. The twins had accepted 
several invitations while the reception was in prog¬ 
ress, and had also volunteered to play some duets 
at an amateur entertainment for the benefit of a 
local charity. Society was eager to receive them to 
its bosom. Judge Driscoll had the good fortune 
to secure them for an immediate drive, and to be 
the first to display them in public. They entered 
his buggy with him, and were paraded down the 
main street, everybody flocking to the windows and 
sidewalks to see. 

The Judge showed the strangers the new grave¬ 
yard, and the jail, and where the richest man lived, 
and the Freemasons’ hall, and the Methodist church, 
and the Presbyterian church, and where the Baptist 
church was going to be when they got some money 
to build it with, and showed them the town hall and 
the slaughter-house, and got out the independent 
fire company in uniform and had them put out an 


MARK TWAIN 

Imaginary fire; then he let them inspect the muskets 
of the militia company, and poured out an exhaust¬ 
less stream of enthusiasm over all these splendors, 
and seemed very well satisfied with the responses he 
got, for the twins admired his admiration, and paid 
him back the best they could, though they could 
have done better if some fifteen or sixteen hundred 
thousand previous experiences of this sort in various 
countries had not already rubbed off a considerable 
part of the novelty of it. 

The Judge laid himself out hospitably to make 
them have a good time, and if there was a defect 
anywhere it was not his fault. He told them a good 
many humorous anecdotes, and always forgot the 
nub, but they were always able to furnish it, for 
these yarns were of a pretty early vintage, and they 
had had many a rejuvenating pull at them before. 
And he told them all about his several dignities, and 
how he had held this and that and the other place 
of honor or profit, and had once been to the legis¬ 
lature, and was now president of the Society of 
Free-thinkers. He said the society had been in 
existence four years, and already had two members, 
and was firmly established. He would call for the 
brothers in the evening if they w r ould like to attend 
a meeting of it. 

Accordingly he called for them, and on the way 
he told them all about Pudd’nhead Wilson, in order 
that they might get a favorable impression of him in 
advance and be prepared to like him. This scheme 
succeeded—the favorable impression was achieved. 
Later it was confirmed and solidified when Wilson 
52 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

proposed that out of courtesy to the strangers the 
usual topics be put aside and the hour be devoted 
to conversation upon ordinary subjects and the culti¬ 
vation of friendly relations and good-fellowship—a 
proposition which was put to vote and carried. 

The hour passed quickly away in lively talk, and 
when it was ended the lonesome and neglected 
Wilson was richer by two friends than he had been 
when it began. He invited the twins to look in at 
his lodgings, presently, after disposing of an inter¬ 
vening engagement, and they accepted with pleasure. 

Toward the middle of the evening they found 
themselves on the road to his house. Pudd’nhead 
was at home waiting for them and putting in his 
time puzzling over a thing which had come under his 
notice that morning. The matter was this: He 
happened to be up very early—at dawn, in fact; 
and he crossed the hall which divided his cottage 
through the center, and entered a rcom to get some¬ 
thing there. The window of the room had no cur¬ 
tains, for that side of the house had long been 
unoccupied, and through this window he caught 
sight of something which surprised and interested 
him. It was a young woman—a young woman 
where properly no young woman belonged; for she 
was in Judge Driscoll’s house, and in the bedroom 
over the Judge’s private study or sitting-room. 
This was young Tom Driscoll’s bedroom. He and 
the Judge, the Judge’s widowed sister, Mrs. Pratt, 
and three negro servants were the only people who 
belonged in the house. Who, then, might this 
young lady be? The two houses were separated by 
53 


MARK TWAIN 


an ordinary yard, with a low fence running back 
through its middle from the street in front to the 
lane in the rear. The distance was not great, and 
Wilson was able to see the girl very well, the window- 
shades of the room she was in being up, and the 
window also. The girl had on a neat and trim 
summer dress, patterned in broad stripes of pink 
and white, and her bonnet was equipped with a pink 
veil. She was practising steps, gaits, and attitudes, 
apparently; she was doing the thing gracefully, and 
was very much absorbed in her work. Who could 
she be, and how came she to be in young Tom 
Driscoll’s room? 

Wilson had quickly chosen a position from which 
he could watch the girl without running much risk 
of being seen by her, and he remained there hoping 
she would raise her veil and betray her face. But 
she disappointed him. After a matter of twenty 
minutes she disappeared, and although he stayed at 
his post half an hour longer, she came no more. 

Toward noon he dropped in at the Judge’s and 
talked with Mrs. Pratt about the great event of the 
day, the levee of the distinguished foreigners at 
Aunt Patsy Cooper’s. He asked after her nephew 
Tom, and she said he was on his way home, and 
that she was expecting him to arrive a little before 
night; and added that she and the Judge were grati¬ 
fied to gather from his letters that he was conducting 
himself very nicely and creditably—at which Wilson 
winked to himself privately. Wilson did not ask if 
there was a new-comer in the house, but he asked 
questions that would have brought light-throwing 
54 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 


answers as to that matter if Mrs. Pratt had had any 
light to throw; so he went away satisfied that he 
knew of things that were going on in her house of 
which she herself was not aware. 

He was now waiting for the twins, and still puz¬ 
zling over the problem of who that girl might be, 
and how she happened to be in that young fellow’s 
room at daybreak in the morning. 


CHAPTER VIII 


The holy passion of Friendship is of so sweet and steady and 
loyal and enduring a nature that it will last through a whole 
lifetime, if not asked to lend money. 

— Pudd'nhead Wilson’s Calendar. 

Consider well the proportions of things. It is better to be a 
young June-bug than an old bird of paradise. 

— Pudd’nhead Wilson's Calendar. 

I T is necessary now to hunt up Roxy. 

At the time she was set free and went away 
chambermaiding, she was thirty-five. She got a 
berth as second chambermaid on a Cincinnati boat 
in the New Orleans trade, the Grand Mogul. A 
couple of trips made her wonted and easy-going at 
the work, and infatuated her with the stir and ad¬ 
venture and independence of steamboat life. Then 
she was promoted and became head chambermaid. 
She was a favorite with the officers, and exceedingly 
proud of their joking and friendly ways with her. 

During eight years she served three parts of the 
year on that boat, and the winters on a Vicksburg 
packet. But now for two months she had had 
rheumatism in her arms, and was obliged to let the 
wash-tub alone. So she resigned. But she was 
well fixed—rich, as she would have described it; 
for she had lived a steady life, and had banked four 
56 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

dollars every month in New Orleans as a provision 
for her old age. She said in the start that she had 
“put shoes on one bar’footed nigger to tromple on 
her with,” and that one mistake like that was 
enough; she would be independent of the human 
race thenceforth forevermore if hard work and 
economy could accomplish it. When the _ boat 
touched the levee at New Orleans she bade good-by 
to her comrades on the Grand Mogul and moved her 
kit ashore. 

But she was back in an hour. The bank had 
gone to smash and carried her four hundred dollars 
with it. She was a pauper, and homeless. Also 
disabled bodily, at least for the present. The offi¬ 
cers were full of sympathy for her in her trouble, 
and made up a little purse for her. She resolved to 
go to her birthplace; she had friends there among 
the negroes, and the unfortunate always help the 
unfortunate, she was well aware of that; those 
lowly comrades of her youth would not let her 
starve. 

She took the little local packet at Cairo, and now 
she was on the home-stretch. Time had worn away 
her bitterness against her son, and she was able to 
think of him with serenity. She put the vile side of 
him out of her mind, and dwelt only on recollections 
of his occasional acts of kindness to her. She 
gilded and otherwise decorated these, and made 
them very pleasant to contemplate. She began to 
long to see him. She would go and fawn upon 
him, slave-like—for this would have to be her atti¬ 
tude, of course—and maybe she would find that 
5 57 


MARK TWAIN 


time had modified him, and that he would be glad 
to see his long-forgotten old nurse and treat her 
gently. That would be lovely; that would make her 
forget her woes and her poverty. 

Her poverty! That thought inspired her to add 
another castle to her dream; maybe he would give 
her a trifle now and then—maybe a dollar, once a 
month, say; any little thing like that would help, 
oh, ever so much. 

By the time she reached Dawson’s Landing she 
was her old self again; her blues were gone, she 
was in high feather. She would get along, surely; 
there were many kitchens where the servants would 
share their meals with her, and also steal sugar and 
apples and other dainties for her to carry home—or 
give her a chance to pilfer them herself, which would 
answer just as well. And there was the church. 
She was a more rabid and devoted Methodist than 
ever, and her piety was no sham, but was strong and 
sincere. Yes, with plenty of creature comforts and 
her old place in the amen-corner in her possession 
again, she would be perfectly happy and at peace 
thenceforward to the end. 

She went to Judge Driscoll’s kitchen first of all. 
She was received there in great form and with vast 
enthusiasm. Her wonderful travels, and the strange 
countries she had seen and the adventures she had 
had, made her a marvel, and a heroine of romance. 
The negroes hung enchanted upon the great story 
of her experiences, interrupting her all along with 
eager questions, with laughter, exclamations of de¬ 
light and expressions of applause; and she was 
58 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 


obliged to confess to herself that if there was any¬ 
thing better in this world than steamboating, it was 
the glory to be got by telling about it. The audi¬ 
ence loaded her stomach with their dinners, and 
then stole the pantry bare to load up her basket. 

Tom was in St. Louis. The servants said he had 
spent the best part of his time there during the 
previous two years. Roxy came every day, and had 
many talks about the family and its affairs. Once 
she asked why Tom was away so much. The osten¬ 
sible “Chambers” said: 

“De fac’ is, ole marster kin git along better when 
young marster’s away den he kin when he’s in de 
town; yes, en he love him better, too; so he gives 
him fifty dollahs a month—” 

“No, is dat so? Chambers, you’s a-jokin’, ain’t 
you?” 

“’Clah to goodness I ain’t, mammy; Marse Tom 
tole me so his own self. But nemmine, ’t ain’t 
enough.” 

“My lan’, what de reason ’t ain’t enough?” 

“Well, I’s gwine to tell you, if you gimme a 
chanst, mammy. De reason it ain’t enough is 
’ca’se Marse Tom gambles.” 

Roxy threw up her hands in astonishment and 
Chambers went on: 

“Ole marster found it out, ’ca’se he had to pay 
two hundred dollahs for Marse Tom’s gamblin’ 
debts, en dat’s true, mammy, jes as dead certain 
as you’s bawn.” 

“Two—hund’d—dollahs! Why, what is you 

talkin’ ’bout ? Two—hund’d-—dollahs. Sakes alive, 
59 


MARK TWAIN 


it’s ’mos’ enough to buy a tol’able good second-hand 
nigger wid. En you ain’t lyin’, honey?—You 
wouldn’t lie to yo’ ole mammy?” 

“It’s God’s own truth, jes as I tell you—two 
hund’d dollahs—I wisht I may never stir outen my 
tracks if it ain’t so. En, oh, my lan’, ole Marse 
was jes a-hoppin’! he was b’ilin’ mad, I tell you! 
He tuck ’n’ dissenhurrit him.” 

He licked his chops with relish after that stately 
word. Roxy struggled with it a moment, then gave 
it up and said: 

* ‘ Dissen whiched him ?” 

“Dissenhurrit him.” 

* ‘ What’s dat ? What do it mean ? ’ ’ 

“Means he bu’sted de will.” 

“Bu’s—ted de will! He wouldn’t ever treat him 
so! Take it back, you mis’able imitation nigger 
dat I bore in sorrow en tribbilation.” 

Roxy’s pet castle—an occasional dollar from 
Tom’s pocket—was tumbling to ruin before her 
eyes. She could not abide such a disaster as that; 
she couldn’t endure the thought of it. Her remark 
amused Chambers: 

“Yah-yah-yah! jes listen to dat! If I’s imita¬ 
tion, what is you? Bofe of us is imitation white — 
dat’s what we is—en pow’ful good imitation, too— 
yah-yah-yah!—we don’t ’mount to noth’n’ as imita¬ 
tion niggers; and as for—” 

“Shet up yo’ foolin’, ’fo I knock you side de head, 
en tell me ’bout de will. Tell me ’tain’t bu’sted—do, 
honey, en I’ll never forgit you.” 

“Well, 9 tain*t- —’ca’se dey’s a new one made, en 
60 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 


Marse Tom’s all right ag’in. But what is you in 
sich a sweat ’bout it for, mammy? ’Tain’t none o’ 
your business I don’t reckon.” 

‘‘’Tain’t none o’ my business? Whose business 
is it den, I’d like to know? Wuz I his mother tell he 
was fifteen years old, or wusn’t I?—you answer me 
dat. En you speck I could see him turned out po’ 
en ornery on de work en never care noth’n’ ’bout it ? 
I reckon if you’d ever be’n a mother yo’self, Valet de 
Chambers, you wouldn’t talk sich foolishness as dat.” 

“Well, den, ole Marse forgive him en fixed up de 
will ag’in—do dat satisfy you?” 

Yes, she was satisfied now, and quite happy and 
sentimental over it. She kept coming daily, and at 
last she was told that Tom had come home. She 
began to tremble with emotion, and straightway sent 
to beg him to let his “po’ ole nigger mammy have 
jes one sight of him en die for joy.” 

Tom was stretched at his lazy ease on a sofa when 
Chambers brought the petition. Time had not modi¬ 
fied his ancient detestation of the humble drudge 
and protector of his boyhood; it was still bitter and 
uncompromising. He sat up and bent a severe gaze 
upon the fair face of the young fellow whose name 
he was unconsciously using and whose family rights 
he was enjoying. He maintained the gaze until the 
victim of it had become satisfactorily pallid with 
terror, then he said: 

“What does the old rip want with me?” 

The petition was meekly repeated. 

“Who gave you permission to come and disturb 
me with the social attentions of niggers?” 

6 1 


MARK TWAIN 


Tom had risen. The other young man was trem¬ 
bling now, visibly. He saw what was coming, and 
bent his head sideways, and put up his left arm to 
shield it. Tom rained cuffs upon the head and its 
shield, saying no word; the victim received each 
blow with a beseeching “Please, Marse Tom!—oh, 
please, Marse Tom!” Seven blows—then Tom said, 
“Face the door—march!” He followed behind with 
one, two, three solid kicks. The last one helped the 
pure-white slave over the door-sill, and he limped 
away mopping his eyes with his old ragged sleeve. 
Tom shouted after him, “Send her in!” 

Then he flung himself panting on the sofa again, 
and rasped out the remark, “He arrived just at the 
right moment; I was full to the brim with bitter 
thinkings, and nobody to take it out of. How re¬ 
freshing it was! I feel better.” 

Tom’s mother entered now, closing the door be¬ 
hind her, and approached her son with all the whee¬ 
dling and supplicating servilities that fear and inter¬ 
est can impart to the words and attitudes of the 
born slave. She stopped a yard from her boy and 
made two or three admiring exclamations over his 
manly stature and general handsomeness, and Tom 
put an arm under his head and hoisted a leg over 
the sofa-back in order to look properly indifferent. 

“My lan’, how you is growed, honey! ’Clah to 
goodness, I wouldn’t ’a’ knowed you, Marse Tom! 
’deed I wouldn’t! Look at me good; does you 
’member old Roxy?—does you know yo’ old nigger 
mammy, honey? Well, now, I kin lay down en die 
in peace, ’ca’se I’s seed—” 

62 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

“Cut it short, -it, cut it short! What is it 

you want?” 

“You heah dat? Jes de same old Marse Tom, 
al’ays so gay and fminin’ wid de old mammy. I 
’uz jes as shore—” 

“Cut it short, I tell you, and get along! What 
do you want?” 

This was a bitter disappointment. Roxy had for 
so many days nourished and fondled and petted her 
notion that Tom would be glad to see his old nurse, 
and would make her proud and happy to the marrow 
with a cordial word or two, that it took two rebuffs 
to convince her that he was not funning, and that 
her beautiful dream was a fond and foolish vanity, a 
shabby and pitiful mistake. She was hurt to the 
heart, and so ashamed that for a moment she did 
not quite know what to do or how to act. Then 
her breast began to heave, the tears came, and in 
her forlomness she was moved to try that other 
dream of hers—an appeal to her boy’s charity; 
and so, upon the impulse, and without reflection, 
she offered her supplication: 

“Oh, Marse Tom, de po’ ole mammy is in sich 
hard luck dese days; en she’s kinder crippled in de 
arms en can’t work, en if you could gimme a dollah 
—on’y jes one little dol—” 

Tom was on his feet so suddenly that the suppli¬ 
cant was startled into a jump herself. 

“A dollar!—give you a dollar! I’ve a notion to 
strangle you! Is that your errand here? Clear out! 
and be quick about it!” 

Roxy backed slowly toward the door. When 
63 



MARK TWAIN 

she was half-way she stopped, and said mourn¬ 
fully: 

“Marse Tom, I nussed you when you was a little 
baby, en I raised you all by myself tell you was 
’most a young man; en now you is young en rich, 
en I is po’ en gitt’n ole, en I come heah b’lievin’ 
dat you would he’p de ole mammy ’long down de 
little road dat’s lef’ twix’ her en de grave, en—” 

Tom relished this tune less than any that had 
preceded it, for it began to wake up a sort of echo 
in his conscience; so he interrupted and said with 
decision, though without asperity, that he was not 
in a situation to help her, and wasn’t going to do it. 

“Ain’t you ever gwine to he’p me, Marse Tom?” 

“No! Now go away and don’t bother me any 
more.” 

Roxy’s head was down, in an attitude of humility. 
But now the fires of her old wrongs flamed up in 
her breast and began to burn fiercely. She raised 
her head slowly, till it was well up, and at the same 
time her great frame unconsciously assumed an 
erect and masterful attitude, with all the majesty 
and grace of her vanished youth in it. She raised 
her finger and punctuated with it: 

“You has said de word. You has had yo’ chance, 
en you has trompled it under yo’ foot. When you 
git another one, you’ll git down on yo’ knees en 
beg for it!” 

A cold chill went to Tom’s heart, he didn’t know 
why; for he did not reflect that such words, from 
such an incongruous source, and so solemnly de¬ 
livered, could not easily fail of that effect. How- 
64 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

ever, he did the natural thing; he replied with 
bluster and mockery: 

“ You'll give me a chance— you! Perhaps I’d 
better get down on my knees now! But in case I 
don’t—just for argument’s sake—what’s going to 
happen, pray?” 

“Dis is what is gwine to happen. I’s gwine as 
straight to yo’ uncle as I kin walk, en tell him every 
las’ thing I knows ’bout you.” 

Tom’s cheek blenched, and she saw it. Disturb¬ 
ing thoughts began to chase each other through his 
head. 4 ‘How can she know? And yet she must 
have found out—she looks it. I’ve had the will 
back only three months, and am already deep in 
debt again, and moving heaven and earth to save 
myself from exposure and destruction, with a reason¬ 
ably fair show of getting the thing covered up if 
I’m let alone, and now this fiend has gone and found 
me out somehow or other. I wonder how much she 
knows? Oh, oh, oh, it’s enough to break a body’s 
heart! But I’ve got to humor her—there’s no other 
way.” 

Then he worked up a rather sickly sample of a 
gay laugh and a hollow chipperness of manner, and 
said: 

“Well, well, Roxy dear, old friends like you and 
me mustn’t quarrel. Here’s your dollar—now tell 
me what you know.” 

He held out the wildcat bill; she stood as she 
was, and made no movement. It was her turn to 
scorn persuasive foolery now, and she did not waste 
it. She said, with a grim implacability in voice and 

65 


MARK TWAIN 


manner which made Tom almost realize that even 
a former slave can remember for ten minutes insults 
and injuries returned for compliments and flatteries 
received, and can also enjoy taking revenge for them 
when the opportunity offers: 

“What does I know? Ill tell you what I knows. 
I knows enough to bu’st dat will to flinders—en 
more, mind you, more /” 

Tom was aghast. 

“More?” he said. “What do you call more? 
Where’s there any room for more?” 

Roxy laughed a mocking laugh, and said scoff- 
ingly, with a toss of her head, and her hands on 
her hips: 

“Yes!—oh, I reckon! Co'se you’d like to know 
—wid yo’ po’ little old rag dollah. What you 
reckon I’s gwine to tell you for?—you ain’t got 
no money. I’s gwine to tell yo’ uncle—en I’ll do 
it dis minute, too—he’ll gimme five dollahs for de 
news, en mighty glad, too.” 

She swung herself around disdainfully, and started 
away. Tom was in a panic. He seized her skirts, 
and implored her to wait. She turned and said, 
loftily: 

“Look-a-heah, what ’uz it I tole you?” 

“You—you—I don’t remember anything. What 
was it you told me?” 

“I tole you dat de next time I give you a chance 
you’d git down on yo’ knees en beg for it.” 

Tom was stupefied for a moment. He was pant¬ 
ing with excitement. Then he said: 

“Oh, Roxy, you wouldn’t require your young 
56 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 


master to do such a horrible thing. You can’t 
mean it.” 

“Ill let you know mighty quick whether I means 
it or not! You call me names, en as good as spit 
on me when I comes here po’ en ornery en ’umble, 
to praise you for bein’ growed up so fine en hand¬ 
some, en tell you how I used to nuss you en tend 
you en watch you when you ’uz sick en hadn’t no 
mother but me in de whole worl’, en beg you to give 
de po’ ole nigger a dollah for to git her som’n’ to 
eat, en you call me names— names , dad blame you! 
Yassir, I gives you jes one chance mo’, and dat’s 
now, en it las’ on’y a half a second—yo hear?” 

Tom slumped to his knees and began to beg, 
saying: 

“You see, I’m begging, and it’s honest begging, 
too! Now tell me, Roxy, tell me!” 

The heir of two centuries of unatoned insult and 
outrage looked down on him and seemed to drink in 
deep draughts of satisfaction. Then she said: 

“Fine nice young white gen’l’man kneelin’ down 
to a nigger wench! I’s wanted to see dat jes once 
befo’ I’s called. Now, Gabr’el, blow de hawn, I’s 
ready. . . . Git up!” 

Tom did it. He said, humbly: 

“Now, Roxy, don’t punish me any more. I 
deserved what I’ve got, but be good and let me off 
with that. Don’t go to uncle. Tell me—I’ll give 
you the five dollars.” 

“Yes, I bet you will; en you won’t stop dah, 
nuther. But I ain’t gwine to tell you heah—” 

“Good gracious, no!” 


67 


MARK TWAIN 


“Is you’feared o’ de ha’nted house?” 

“N-no.” 

“Well, den, you come to de ha’nted house ’bout 
ten or ’leven to-night, en climb up de ladder, ’ca’se 
de sta’r-steps is broke down, en you’ll find me. I’s 
a-roostin’ in de ha’nted house ’ca’se I can’t ’ford to 
roos’ nowhers’ else.” She started toward the door, 
but stopped and said, “Gimme de dollah bill!” 
He gave it to her. She examined it and said, 
* ‘ H’m—like enough de bank’s bu’sted. ’ ’ She started 
again, but halted again. ‘ ‘ Has you got any whisky ?’ ’ 

“Yes, a little.” 

“Fetch it!” 

He ran to his room overhead and brought down a 
bottle which was two-thirds full. She tilted it up 
and took a drink. Her eyes sparkled with satisfac¬ 
tion and she tucked the bottle under her shawl, say¬ 
ing, “It’s prime. I’ll take it along.” 

Tom humbly held the door for her, and she 
marched out as grim and erect as a grenadier. 


CHAPTER IX 


Why is it that we rejoice at a birth and grieve at a funeral? 
It is because we are not the person involved. 

— Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar. 

It is easy to find fault, if one has that disposition. There 
was once a man who, not being able to find any other fault with 
his coal, complained that there were too many prehistoric 
toads in it.— Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar . 

T OM flung himself on the sofa, and put his throb¬ 
bing head in his hands, and rested his elbows 
on his knees. He rocked himself back and forth 
and moaned. 

“I’ve knelt to a nigger wench!” he muttered. 
“I thought I had struck the deepest depths of 
degradation before, but oh, dear, it was nothing to 
this. . . . Well, there is one consolation, such as it 
is—I’ve struck bottom this time; there’s nothing 
lower.” 

But that was a hasty conclusion. 

At ten that night he climbed the ladder in the 
haunted house, pale, weak, and wretched. Roxy 
was standing in the door of one of the rooms, wait¬ 
ing, for she had heard him. 

This was a two-story log house which had ac¬ 
quired the reputation a few years before of being 
haunted, and that was the end of its usefulness. 
6q 


MARK TWAIN 

Nobody would live in it afterward, or go near it by 
night, and most people even gave it a wide berth in 
the daytime. As it had no competition, it was 
called the haunted house. It was getting crazy and 
ruinous now from long neglect. It stood three 
hundred yards beyond Pudd’nhead Wilson’s house, 
with nothing between but vacancy. It was the last 
house in the town at that end. 

Tom followed Roxy into the room. She had a 
pile of clean straw in the comer for a bed, some 
cheap but well-kept clothing was hanging on the 
wall, there was a tin lantern freckling the floor with 
little spots of light, and there were various soap and 
candle boxes scattered about, which served for chairs. 
The two sat down. Roxy said: 

“Now den, I’ll tell you straight off, en I’ll begin 
to k’leck de money later on; I ain’t in no hurry. 
What does you reckon I’s gwine to tell you?” 

“Well, you—you—oh, Roxy, don’t make it too 
hard for me! Come right out and tell me you’ve 
found out somehow what a shape I’m in on account 
of dissipation and foolishness.” 

“Disposition en foolishness! No, sir, dat ain’t it. 
Dat jist ain’t nothin’ at all, ’longside o’ what I 
knows.” 

Tom stared at her, and said: 

“Why, Roxy, what do you mean?” 

She rose, and gloomed above him like a Fate. 

“I mean dis—en it’s de Lord’s truth. You ain’t 
no more kin to ole Marse Driscoll den I is!— dot's 
what I means!” and her eyes flamed with triumph. 
‘‘What!” 


7 ° 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

“Yassir, en dat ain’t all! You’s a nigger!—bawn 
a nigger en a slave !—en you’s a nigger en a slave 
dis minute; en if I opens my mouf ole Marse Driscoll 
’ll sell you down de river befo’ you is two days older 
den what you is now!” 

“It’s a thundering lie, you miserable old blather¬ 
skite!” 

“It ain’t no lie, nuther. It’s jes de truth, en 
nothin’ but de truth, so he’p me. Yassir—you’s 
my son —” 

“You devil!” 

“En dat po’ boy dat you’s be’n a-kicken’ en a- 
cuffin’ to-day is Percy Driscoll’s son en yo’ marster —” 

“You beast!” 

“En his name’s Tom Driscoll, en yo ’ name’s Valet 
de Chambers, en you ain’t got no fambly name, 
beca’se niggers don’t have em!” 

Tom sprang up and seized a billet of wood and 
raised it; but his mother only laughed at him, and 
said: 

“Set down, you pup! Does you think you kin 
skyer me? It ain’t in you, nor de likes of you. I 
reckon you’d shoot me in de back, maybe, if you 
got a chance, for dat’s jist yo’ style —I knows you, 
fchroo en throo—but I don’t mind gitt’n killed, 
beca’se all dis is down in writin’ en it’s in safe 
hands, too, en de man dat’s got it knows whah to 
look for de right man when I gits killed. Oh, bless 
yo’ soul, if you puts yo’ mother up for as big a fool 
as you is, you’s pow’ful mistaken, I kin tell you! 
Now den, you set still en behave yo’self; en don’t 
you git up ag’in till I tell you!” 

7i 


MARK TWAIN 


Tom fretted and chafed awhile in a whirlwind of 
disorganizing sensations and emotions, and finally 
said, with something like settled conviction: 

“The whole thing is moonshine; now then, go 
ahead and do your worst; I’m done with you.” 

Roxy made no answer. She took the lantern and 
started toward the door. Tom was in a cold panic 
in a moment. 

“Come back, come back!” he wailed. “I didn’t 
mean it, Roxy; I take it all back, and I’ll never 
say it again! Please come back, Roxy!” 

The woman stood a moment, then she said 
gravely: 

“Dat’s one thing you’s got to stop, Valet de 
Chambers. You can’t call me Roxy, same as if you 
was my equal. Chillen don’t speak to dey mammies 
like dat. You’ll call me ma or mammy, dat’s what 
you’ll call me—leastways when dey ain’t nobody 
aroun’. Say it!” 

It cost Tom a struggle, but he got it out. 

“Dat’s all right. Don’t you ever forgit it ag’in, 
if you knows what’s good for you. Now den, you 
has said you wouldn’t ever call it lies en moonshine 
ag’in. I’ll tell you dis, for a warnin’: if you ever 
does say it ag’in, it’s de las' time you’ll ever say it 
to me; I’ll tramp as straight to de Judge as I kin 
walk, en tell him who you is, en prove it. Does you 
b’lieve me when I says dat?” 

“Oh,” groaned Tom, “I more than believe it; I 
know it.” 

Roxy knew her conquest was complete. She could 
have proved nothing to anybody, and her threat 
72 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

about the writings was a lie; but she knew the person 
she was dealing with, and had made both statements 
without any doubt as to the effect they would 
produce. 

She went and sat down on her candle-box, and 
the pride and pomp of her victorious attitude made 
it a throne. She said: 

“Now den, Chambers, we’s gwine to talk busi¬ 
ness, en dey ain’t gwine to be no mo’ foolishness. 
In de fust place, you gits fifty dollahs a month; 
you’s gwine to han’ over half of it to yo’ ma. Plank 
it out!” 

\ But Tom had only six dollars in the world. He 
gave her that, and promised to start fair on next 
month’s pension. 

“Chambers, how much is you in debt?” 

Tom shuddered, and said: 

“Nearly three hundred dollars.” 

“How is you gwine to pay it?” 

Tom groaned out— “Oh, I don’t know; don’t 
ask me such awful questions.” 

But she stuck to her point until she wearied a 
confession out of him: he had been prowling about in 
disguise, stealing small valuables from private houses; 
in fact, had made a good deal of a raid on his fellow- 
villagers a fortnight before, when he was supposed 
to be in St. Louis; but he doubted if he had sent 
away enough stuff to realize the required amount, 
and was afraid to make a further venture in the 
present excited state of the town. His mother 
approved of his conduct, and offered to help, but 
this frightened him. He tremblingly ventured to 

6 73 


MARK TWAIN 


say that if she would retire from the town he should 
feel better and safer, and could hold his head higher 
—and was going on to make an argument, but she 
interrupted and surprised him pleasantly by saying 
she was ready; it didn’t make any difference to her 
where she stayed, so that she got her share of the 
pension regularly. She said she would not go far, 
and would call at the haunted house once a month 
for her money. Then she said: 

“I don’t hate you so much now, but I’ve hated 
you a many a year—and anybody would. Didn’t 
I change you off, en give you a good fambly en a 
good name, en made you a white gen’l’man en rich, 
wid sto^e clothes on—en what did I git for it? You 
despised me all de time, en was al’ays sayin’ mean 
hard things to me befo’ folks, en wouldn’t ever let 
me forgit I’s a nigger—en—en—” 

She fell to sobbing, and broke down. Tom said: 

“But you know I didn’t know you were my 
mother; and besides—” 

“Well, nemmine ’bout dat, now; let it go. I's 
gwine to fo’git it.” Then she added fiercely, “En 
don’t ever make me remember it ag’in, or you’ll be 
sorry, 1 tell you.” 

When they were parting, Tom said, in the most 
persuasive way he could command: 

“Ma, would you mind telling me who was my 
father?” 

He had supposed he was asking an embarrassing 
question. He was mistaken. Roxy drew herself 
up with a proud toss of her head, and said: 

“Does I mine tellin’ you? No, dat I don’t! 

74 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

You ain’t got no ’casion to be shame’ o’ yo’ father, 
1 kin tell you. He wuz the highest quality in dis 
whole town—ole Virginny stock. Fust famblies, he 
wuz. Jes as good stock as de Driscolls en de How¬ 
ards, de bes’ day dey ever seed.” She put on a little 
prouder air, if possible, and added impressively: 
“Does you ’member Cunnel Cecil Burleigh Essex, 
dat died de same year yo’ young Marse Tom Dris¬ 
coll’s pappy died, en all de Masons en Odd Fellers 
en Churches turned out en give him de bigges’ 
funeral dis town ever seed? Dat’s de man.” 

Under the inspiration of her soaring complacency 
the departed graces of her earlier days returned to 
her, and her bearing took to itself a dignity and 
state that might have passed for queenly if her sur¬ 
roundings had been a little more in keeping with it. 

“Dey ain’t another nigger in dis town dat’s as 
high-bawn as you is. Now den, go ’long! En jes 
you hold yo’ head up as high as you want to—you 
has de right, en dat I kin swah.” 


CHAPTER X 


All say, “How hard it is that we have to die”—a strange com* 
♦plaint to come from the mouths of people who have had to live. 

— Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar. 

When angry, count four; when very angry, swear. 

— Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar . 

E VERY now and then, after Tom went to bed, he 
had sudden wakings out of his sleep, and his 
first thought was, “Oh, joy, it was all a dream!” 
Then he laid himself heavily down again, with a 
groan and the muttered words, “A nigger! I am a 
nigger! Oh, I wish I was dead!” 

He woke at dawn with one more repetition of this 
horror, and then he resolved to meddle no more with 
that treacherous sleep. He began to think. Suffi¬ 
ciently bitter thinkings they were. They wandered 
along something after this fashion: 

“Why were niggers and whites made? What 
crime did the uncreated first nigger commit that the 
curse of birth was decreed for him? And why is 
this awful difference made between white and black? 
. . . How hard the nigger’s fate seems, this morn¬ 
ing!—yet until last night such a thought never 
entered my head.” 

He sighed and groaned an hour or more away. 
Then “Chambers” came humbly in to say that 
76 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

breakfast was nearly ready. ‘ ‘ Tom ’ ’ blushed scarlet 
to see this aristocratic white youth cringe to him, 
a nigger, and call him “Young Marster.” He said 
roughly: 

“Get out of my sight!” and when the youth was 
gone, he muttered, “He has done me no harm, 
poor wretch, but he is an eyesore to me now, for he 
is Driscoll the young gentleman, and I am a—oh,. 
I wish I was dead!” 

A gigantic eruption, like that of Krakatoa a few 
years ago, with the accompanying earthquakes, 
tidal waves, and clouds of volcanic dust, changes the 
face of the surrounding landscape beyond recogni¬ 
tion, bringing down the high lands, elevating the low, 
making fair lakes where deserts had been, and 
deserts where green prairies had smiled before. The 
tremendous catastrophe which had befallen Tom had 
changed his moral landscape in much the same way. 
Some of his low places he found lifted to ideals, 
some of his ideals had sunk to the valleys, and lay 
there with the sackcloth and ashes of pumice-stone 
and sulphur on their ruined heads. 

For days he wandered in lonely places, thinking, 
thinking, thinking—trying to get his bearings. It 
was new work. If he met a friend, he found that the 
habit of a lifetime had in some mysterious way van¬ 
ished—his arm hung limp, instead of involuntarily 
extending the hand for a shake. It was the “nigger” 
in him asserting its humility, and he blushed and was 
abashed. And the “nigger” in him was surprised 
when the white friend put out his hand for a shake 
with him. He found the “nigger” in him involun- 
7 7 


MARK TWAIN 

tarily giving the road, on the sidewalk, to the white 
rowdy and loafer. When Rowena, the dearest thing 
his heart knew, the idol of his secret worship, invited 
him in, the 44 nigger’* in him made an embarrassed 
excuse and was afraid to enter and sit with the dread 
white folks on equal terms. The “nigger” in him 
went shrinking and skulking here and there and 
yonder, and fancying it saw suspicion and maybe 
detection in all faces, tones, and gestures. So strange 
and uncharacteristic was Tom’s conduct that people 
noticed it, and turned to look after him when he 
passed on; and when he glanced back—as he could 
not help doing, in spite of his best resistance—and 
caught that puzzled expression in a person’s face, it 
gave him a sick feeling, and he took himself out of 
view as quickly as he could. He presently came to 
have a hunted sense and a hunted look, and then 
he fled away to the hilltops and the solitudes. He 
said to himself that the curse of Ham was upon him. 

He dreaded his meals; the “nigger” in him was 
ashamed to sit at the white folks’ table, and feared 
discovery all the time; and once when Judge Driscoll 
said, “What’s the matter with you? You look as 
meek as a nigger,” he felt as secret murderers are 
said to feel when the accuser says, “Thou art the 
man!” Tom said he was not well, and left the table. 

His ostensible “aunt’s” solicitudes and endear¬ 
ments were become a terror to him, and he avoided 
them. 

And all the time, hatred of his ostensible “uncle” 
was steadily growing in his heart; for he said to 
himself, “He is white; and I am his chattel, his 
78 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

property, his goods, and he can sell me, just as he 
could his dog.” 

For as much as a week after this, Tom imagined 
that his character had undergone a pretty radical 
change. But that was because he did not know 
himself. 

In several ways his opinions were totally changed, 1 
and would never go back to what they were before, 
but the main structure of his character was not 
changed, and could not be changed. One or two 
very important features of it were altered, and in 
time effects would result from this, if opportunity 
offered—effects of a quite serious nature, too. 
Under the influence of a great mental and moral 
upheaval his character and habits had taken on the 
appearance of complete change, but after a while 
with the subsidence of the storm both began to settle 
toward their former places. He dropped gradually 
back into his old frivolous and easy-going ways and 
conditions of feeling and manner of speech, and no 
familiar of his could have detected anything in him 
that differentiated him from the weak and careless 
Tom of other days. 

The theft-raid which he had made upon the village 
turned out better than he had ventured to hope. It 
produced the sum necessary to pay his gaming 
debts, and saved him from exposure to his uncle and 
another smashing of the will. He and his mother 
learned to like each other fairly well. She couldn’t 
love him, as yet, because there “wam’t nothing to 
him,” as she expressed it, but her nature needed 
something or somebody to rule over, and he was 
79 


MARK TWAIN 

better than nothing. Her strong character and 
aggressive and commanding ways compelled Tom’s 
admiration in spite of the fact that he got more illus¬ 
trations of them than he needed for his comfort. 
However, as a rule her conversation was made up of 
racy tattle about the privacies of the chief families 
of the town (for she went harvesting among their 
kitchens every time she came to the village), and 
Tom enjoyed this. It was just in his line. She 
always collected her half of his pension punctually, 
and he was always at the haunted house to have a 
chat with her on these occasions. Every now and 
then she paid him a visit there on between-days also. 

Occasionally he would run up to St. Louis for a 
few weeks, and at last temptation caught him again. 
He won a lot of money, but lost it, and with it a 
deal more besides, which he promised to raise as 
soon as possible. 

For this purpose he projected a new raid on his 
town. He never meddled with any other town, for 
he was afraid to venture into the houses whose ins and 
outs he did not know and the habits of whose house¬ 
holds he was not acquainted with. He arrived at 
the haunted house in disguise on the Wednesday be¬ 
fore the advent of the twins—after writing his aunt 
Pratt that he would not arrive until two days after 
—and lay in hiding there with his mother until 
toward daylight Friday morning, when he went to his 
uncle’s house and entered by the back way with his 
own key, and slipped up to his room, where he could 
have the use of mirror and toilet articles. He had a 
suit of girl’s clothes with him in a bundle as a dis- 
80 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

guise for his raid, and was wearing a suit of his 
mother’s clothing, with black gloves and veil. By- 
dawn he was tricked out for his raid, but he caught 
a glimpse of Pudd ’nhead Wilson through the window 
over the way, and knew that Pudd’nhead had caught 
a glimpse of him. So he entertained Wilson with 
some airs and graces and attitudes for a while, then 
stepped out of sight and resumed the other disguise, 
and by and by went down and out the back way, and 
started down-town to reconnoiter the scene of his 
intended labors. 

But he was ill at ease. He had changed back to 
Roxy’s dress, with the stoop of age added to the 
disguise, so that Wilson would not bother himself 
about a humble old woman leaving a neighbor’s 
house by the back way in the early morning, in case 
he was still spying. But supposing Wilson had seen 
him leave, and had thought it suspicious, and had 
also followed him? The thought made Tom cold. 
He gave up the raid for the day, and hurried back 
to the haunted house by the obscurest route he knew. 
His mother was gone; but she came back, by and 
by, with the news of the grand reception at Patsy 
Cooper’s, and soon persuaded him that the oppor¬ 
tunity was like a special providence, it was so invit¬ 
ing and perfect. So he went raiding, after all, and 
made a nice success of it while everybody was gone 
to Patsy Cooper’s. Success gave him nerve and 
even actual intrepidity; insomuch, indeed, that after 
he had conveyed his harvest to his mother in a back 
alley, he went to the reception himself, and added 
several of the valuables of that house to his takings. 

81 


MARK TWAIN 


After this long digression we have now arrived 
once more at the point where Pudd’nhead Wilson, 
while waiting for the arrival of the twins on that 
same Friday evening, sat puzzling over the strange 
apparition of that morning—a girl in young Tom 
Driscoll’s bedroom; fretting, and guessing, and 
puzzling over it, and wondering who the shameless 
creature might be. 


CHAPTER XI 


There are three infallible ways of pleasing an author, and the 
three form a rising scale of compliment: i, to tell him you have 
read one of his books; 2, to tell him you have read all of his 
books; 3, to ask him to let you read the manuscript of his 
forthcoming book. No. 1 admits you to his respect; No. 2 
admits you to his admiration; No. 3 carries you clear into his 
heart. — Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar . 

As to the Adjective: when in doubt, strike it out. 

— Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar. 

T HE twins arrived presently, and talk began. It 
flowed along chattily and sociably, and under 
its influence the new friendship gathered ease and 
strength. Wilson got out his Calendar, by request, 
and read a passage or two from it, which the twins 
praised quite cordially. This pleased the author so 
much that he complied gladly when they asked him 
to lend them a batch of the work to read at home. 
In the course of their wide travels they had found 
out that there are three sure ways of pleasing an 
author; they were now working the best of the three. 

There was an interruption, now. Young Tom 
Driscoll appeared, and joined the party. He pre¬ 
tended to be seeing the distinguished strangers for the 
first time -when they rose to shake hands; but this 
was only a blind, as he had already had a glimpse of 
them, at the reception, while robbing the house. 
83 


MARK TWAIN 


The twins made mental note that he was smooth¬ 
faced and rather handsome, and smooth and un- 
dulatory in his movements — graceful, in fact. 
Angelo thought he had a good eye; Luigi thought 
there was something veiled and sly about it. Angelo 
thought he had a pleasant free-and-easy way of 
talking; Luigi thought it was more so than was 
agreeable. Angelo thought he was a sufficiently nice 
young man; Luigi reserved his decision. Tom’s first 
contribution to the conversation was a question 
which he had put to Wilson a hundred times before. 
It was always cheerily and good-naturedly put, and 
always inflicted a little pang, for it touched a secret 
sore; but this time the pang was sharp, since stran¬ 
gers were present. 

‘‘Well, how does the law come on? Had a case 
yet?” 

Wilson bit his lip, but answered, “No—not yet,” 
with as much indifference as he could assume. 
Judge Driscoll had generously left the law feature 
out of the Wilson biography which he had furnished 
to the twins. Young Tom laughed pleasantly, and 
said: 

“Wilson’s a lawyer, gentlemen, but he doesn’t 
practise now.” 

The sarcasm bit, but Wilson kept himself under 
control, and said without passion: 

“I don’t practise, it is true. It is true that I 
have never had a case, and have had to earn a poor 
living for twenty years as an expert accountant in a 
town where I can’t get hold of a set of books to un¬ 
tangle as often as I should like. But it is also true 
34 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 


that I did fit myself well for the practice of the law. 
By the time I was your age, Tom, I had chosen a 
profession, and was soon competent to enter upon 
it.” Tom winced. “I never got a chance to try 
my hand at it, and I may never get a chance; and 
yet if I ever do get it I shall be found ready, for I 
have kept up my law studies all these years.” 

“That’s it; that’s good grit! I like to see it. 
I’ve a notion to throw all my business your way. 
My business and your law practice ought to make 
a pretty gay team, Dave,” and the young fellow 
laughed again. 

“If you will throw—” Wilson had thought of the 
girl in Tom’s bedroom, and was going to say, “If 
you will throw the surreptitious and disreputable 
part of your business my way, it may amount to 
something”; but thought better of it and said, 
“However, this matter doesn’t fit well in a general 
conversation.” 

“All right, we’ll change the subject; I guess you 
were about to give me another dig, anyway, so I’m 
willing to change. How’s the Awful Mystery 
flourishing these days? Wilson’s got a scheme for 
driving plain window-glass out of the market by 
decorating it with greasy finger-marks, and getting 
rich by selling it at famine prices to the crowned 
heads over in Europe to outfit their palaces with. 
Fetch it out, Dave.” 

Wilson brought three of his glass strips, and said: 

“I get the subject to pass the fingers of his right 
hand through his hair, so as to get a little coating of 
the natural oil on them, and then press the balls of. 

85 


MARK TWAIN 


them on the glass. A fine and delicate print of the 
lines in the skin results, and is permanent, if it 
doesn’t come in contact with something able to rub 
it off. You begin, Tom.” 

“Why, I think you took my finger-marks once or 
twice before.” 

“Yes, but you were a little boy the last time, only 
about twelve years old.” 

“That’s so. Of course I’ve changed entirely since 
then, and variety is what the crowned heads want, 
I guess.” 

He passed his fingers through his crop of short 
hair, and pressed them one at a time on the glass. 
Angelo made a print of his fingers on another glass, 
and Luigi followed with the third. Wilson marked 
the glasses with names and date, and put them 
away. Tom gave one of his little laughs, and said: 

“I thought I wouldn’t say anything, but if variety 
is what you are after, you have wasted a piece of 
glass. The hand-print of one twin is the same as 
the hand-print of the fellow twin.” 

“Well, it’s done now, and I like to have them 
both, anyway,” said Wilson, returning to his place. 

“But look here, Dave,” said Tom, “you used to 
tell people’s fortunes, too, when you took their 
finger-marks. Dave’s just an all-round genius—a 
genius of the first water, gentlemen; a great scientist 
running to seed here in this village, a prophet with 
the kind of honor that prophets generally get at 
home—for here they don’t give shucks for his 
scientifics, and they call his skull a notion factory 
—hey, Dave, ain’t it so? But never mind; he’ll 
$6 


PUDD’NIIEAD WILSON 


make his mark some day—finger-mark, you know, 
he-he! But really, you want to let him take a shy 
at your palms once; it’s worth twice the price of 
admission or your money’s returned at the door. 
Why, he’ll read your wrinkles as easy as a book, and 
not only tell you fifty or sixty things that’s going 
to happen to you, but fifty or sixty thousand that 
ain’t. Come, Dave, show the gentlemen what an 
inspired Jack-at-all-science we’ve got in this town, 
and don’t know it.” 

Wilson winced under this nagging and not very 
courteous chaff, and the twins suffered with him and 
for him. They rightly judged, now, that the best 
way to relieve him would be to take the thing in 
earnest and treat it with respect, ignoring Tom’s 
rather overdone raillery; so Luigi said: 

“We have seen something of palmistry in our 
wanderings, and know very well what astonishing 
things it can do. If it isn’t a science, and one of 
the greatest of them, too, I don’t know what its 
other name ought to be. In the Orient—” 

Tom looked surprised and incredulous. He said: 

“That juggling a science? But realty, you ain’t 
serious, are you?” 

“Yes, entirety so. Four years ago we had our 
hands read out to us as if our palms had been 
covered with print.” 

“Well, do you mean to say there was actually 
anything in it?” asked Tom, his incredulity begin¬ 
ning to weaken a little. 

“There was this much in it,” said Angelo; “what 
was told us of our characters was minutely exact— 
87 


MARK TWAIN 


we could not have bettered it ourselves. Next, two 
or three memorable things that had happened to us 
were laid bare—things which no one present but 
ourselves could have known about.* 1 * 

“Why, it’s rank sorcery!” exclaimed Tom, who 
was now becoming very much interested. “And 
how did they make out with what was going to 
happen to you in the future?” 

“On the whole, quite fairly,” said Luigi. “Two 
or three of the most striking things foretold have 
happened since; much the most striking one of all 
happened within that same year. Some of the 
minor prophecies have come true; some of the minor 
and some of the major ones have not been fulfilled 
yet, and of course may never be: still, I should 
be more surprised if they failed to arrive than if 
they didn’t.” 

Tom was entirely sobered, and profoundly im¬ 
pressed. He said, apologetically: 

* ‘ Dave, I wasn’t meaning to belittle that science; 
I was only chaffing—chattering, I reckon I’d better 
say. I wish you would look at their palms. Come, 
won’t you?” 

“Why, certainly, if you want me to; but you 
know I’ve had no chance to become an expert, and 
don’t claim to be one. When a past event is some¬ 
what prominently recorded in the palm I can gen¬ 
erally detect that, but minor ones often escape me 
—not always, of course, but often—but I haven’t 
much confidence in myself when it comes to reading 
the future. I am talking as if palmistry was a daily 
study with me, but that is not so. I haven’t exam- 
88 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

ined half a dozen hands in the last half-dozen years; 
you see, the people got to joking about it, and I 
stopped to let the talk die down. I’ll tell you what 
we’ll do, Count Luigi: I’ll make a try at your past, and 
if I have any success there—no, on the whole, I’ll let 
the future alone; that’s really the affair of an expert.” 

He took Luigi’s hand. Tom said: 

“Wait—don’t look yet, Dave! Count Luigi, 
here’s paper and pencil. Set down that thing that 
you said was the most striking one that was foretold 
to you, and happened less than a year afterward, and 
give it to me so I can see if Dave finds it in your 
hand.” 

Luigi wrote a line privately, and folded up the 
piece of paper, and handed it to Tom, saying: 

“I’ll tell you when to look at it, if he finds it.” 

Wilson began to study Luigi’s palm, tracing life 
lines, heart lines, head lines, and so on, and noting 
carefully their relations with the cobweb of finer and 
more delicate marks and lines that enmeshed them 
on all sides; he felt of the fleshy cushion at the base 
of the thumb, and noted its shape; he felt of the 
fleshy side of the hand between the wrist and the 
base of the little finger, and noted its shape also; he 
painstakingly examined the fingers, observing their 
form, proportions, and natural manner of disposing 
themselves when in repose. All this process was 
w r atched by the three spectators with absorbing 
interest, their heads bent together over Luigi’s palm, 
and nobody disturbing the stillness with a word. 
Wilson now entered upon a close survey of the palm 
again, and his revelations began. 

7 89 


MARK TWAIN 


He mapped out Luigi’s character and disposi¬ 
tion, his tastes, aversions, proclivities, ambitions, 
and eccentricities in a way which sometimes made 
Luigi wince and the others laugh, but both twins 
declared that the chart was artistically drawn and 
was correct. 

Next, Wilson took up Luigi’s history. He pro¬ 
ceeded cautiously and with hesitation, now, moving 
his finger slowly along the great lines of the palm, 
and now and then halting it at a “star” or some 
such landmark, and examining that neighborhood 
minutely. He proclaimed one or two past events, 
Luigi confirmed his correctness, and the search went 
on. Presently Wilson glanced up suddenly with a 
surprised expression— 

“Here is record of an incident which you would 
perhaps not wish me to—” 

“Bring it out,” said Luigi, good-naturedly; “I 
promise you it sha’n’t embarrass me.” 

But Wilson still hesitated, and did not seem quite 
to know what to do. Then he said: 

“I think it is too delicate a matter to—to—I 
believe I would rather write it or whisper it to you, 
and let you decide for yourself whether you want 
it talked out or not.” 

“That will answer,” said Luigi; “write it.” 

Wilson wrote something on a slip of paper and hand¬ 
ed it to Luigi, who read it to himself and said to Tom: 

“Unfold your slip and read it, Mr. Driscoll.” 

Tom read: 

“It was prophesied that I would kill a man . It 
came true before the year was out” 
go 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

Tom added, ‘‘Great Scott!” 

Luigi handed Wilson’s paper to Tom, and said: 

“Now read this one.” 

Tom read: 

“You have killed some one , but whether man , 
woman , or child , I do not make out” 

“Caesar’s ghost!” commented Tom, with astonish¬ 
ment. “It beats anything that was ever heard of! 
Why, a man’s own hand is his deadliest enemy! 
Just think of that—a man’s own hand keeps a 
record of the deepest and fatalest secrets of his life, 
and is treacherously ready to expose him to any 
black-magic stranger that comes along. But what 
do you let a person look at your hand for, with 
that awful thing printed in it?” 

“Oh,” said Luigi, reposefully, “I don’t mind it. 
I killed the man for good reasons, and I don’t re¬ 
gret it.” 

“What were the reasons?” 

“Well, he needed killing.” 

“I’ll tell you why he did it, since he won’t say 
himself,” said Angelo, warmly. “He did it to save 
my life, that’s what he did it for. So it was a noble 
act, and not a thing to be hid in the dark.” 

“So it was, so it was,” said Wilson; “to do such 
a thing to save a brother’s life is a great and fine 
action.” 

“Now come,” said Luigi, “it is very pleasant to 
hear you say these things, but for unselfishness, or 
heroism, or magnanimity, the circumstances won’t 
stand scrutiny. You overlook one detail; suppose 
I hadn’t saved Angelo’s life, what would have be- 


MARK TWAIN 

come of mine? If I had let the man kill him, 
wouldn’t he have killed me, too? I saved my own 
life, you see.” 

“Yes; that is your way of talking,” said Angelo, 
“but I know you—I don’t believe you thought of 
yourself at all. I keep that weapon yet that Luigi 
killed the man with, and I’ll show it to you some¬ 
time. That incident makes it interesting, and it had 
a history before it came into Luigi’s hands which 
adds to its interest. It was given to Luigi by a 
great Indian prince, the Gaikowar of Baroda, and it 
had been in his family two or three centuries. It 
killed a good many disagreeable people who troubled 
that hearthstone at one time or another. It isn’t 
much to look at, except that it isn’t shaped like 
other knives, or dirks, or whatever it may be called 
—here, I’ll draw it for you.” He took a sheet of 
paper and made a rapid sketch. “There it is—a 
broad and murderous blade, with edges like a razor 
for sharpness. The devices engraved on it are the 
ciphers or names of its long line of possessors—I 
had Luigi’s name added in Roman letters myself with 
our coat of arms, as you see. You notice what a 
curious handle the thing has. It is solid ivory, 
polished like a mirror, and is four or five inches 
long—round, and as thick as a large man’s wrist, 
with the end squared off flat, for your thumb to rest 
on; for you grasp it, with your thumb resting on the 
blunt end—so—and lift it aloft and strike down¬ 
ward. The Gaikowar showed us how the thing was 
done when he gave it to Luigi, and before that night 
was ended Luigi had used the knife, and the Gaikowar 
92 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 


was a man short by reason of it. The sheath is 
magnificently ornamented with gems of great value. 
You will find the sheath more worth looking at than 
the knife itself, of course.” 

Tom said to himself: 

"It’s lucky I came here. I would have sold that 
knife for a song; I supposed the jewels were glass.” 

“But go on; don’t stop,” said Wilson. “Our 
curiosity is up now, to hear about the homicide. 
Tell us about that.” 

“Well, briefly, the knife was to blame for that, all 
around. A native servant slipped into our room in 
the palace in the night, to kill us and steal the knife 
on account of the fortune incrusted on its sheath, 
without a doubt. Luigi had it under his pillow; we 
were in bed together. There was a dim night light 
burning. I was asleep, but Luigi was awake, and he 
thought he detected a vague form nearing the bed. 
He slipped the knife out of the sheath and was 
ready, and unembarrassed by hampering bedclothes, 
for the weather was hot and we hadn’t any. Sud¬ 
denly that native rose at the bedside, and bent over 
me with his right hand lifted and a dirk in it aimed 
at my throat; but Luigi grabbed his wrist, pulled 
him downward, and drove his own knife into the 
man’s neck. That is the whole story.” 

Wilson and Tom drew deep breaths, and after 
some general chat about the tragedy, Pudd’nhead 
said, taking Tom’s hand: 

“Now, Tom, I’ve never had a look at your palms, 
as it happens; perhaps you’ve got some little ques¬ 
tionable privacies that need—hel-lo!” 

93 


MARK TWAIN 


Tom had snatched away his hand, and was look¬ 
ing a good deal confused. 

“Why, he’s blushing!” said Luigi. 

Tom darted an ugly look at him, and said, sharply: 

“Well, if I am, it ain’t because I’m a murderer!” 
Luigi’s dark face flushed, but before he could speak 
or move, Tom added with anxious haste: “Oh, I 
beg a thousand pardons. I didn’t mean that; it 
was out before I thought, and I’m very, very sorry 
—you must forgive me!” 

Wilson came to the rescue, and smoothed things 
down as well as he could; and in fact was entirely 
successful as far as the twins were concerned, for 
they felt sorrier for the affront put upon him by his 
guest’s outburst of ill manners than for the insult 
offered to Luigi. But the success was not so pro¬ 
nounced with the offender. Tom tried to seem at 
his ease, and he went through the motions fairly 
well, but at bottom he felt resentful toward all the 
three witnesses of his exhibition; in fact, he felt so 
annoyed at them for having witnessed it and noticed 
it that he almost forgot to feel annoyed at himself 
for placing it before them. However, something 
presently happened which made him almost comfort¬ 
able, and brought him nearly back to a state of 
charity and friendliness. This was a little spat be¬ 
tween the twins; not much of a spat, but still a spat; 
and before they got far with it they were in a de¬ 
cided condition of irritation with each other. Tom 
was charmed; so pleased, indeed, that he cautiously 
did what he could to increase the irritation while 
pretending to be actuated by more respectable 
94 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

motives. By his help the fire got warmed up to the 
blazing-point, and he might have had the happiness 
of seeing the flames show up, in another moment, 
but for the interruption of a knock on the door— 
an interruption which fretted him as much as it 
gratified Wilson. Wilson opened the door. The 
visitor was a good-natured, ignorant, energetic, mid¬ 
dle-aged Irishman named John Buckstone, who was 
a great politician in a small way, and always took a 
large share in public matters of every sort. One of 
the town’s chief excitements, just now, was over 
the matter of rum. There was a strong rum party 
and a strong anti-rum party. Buckstone was train¬ 
ing with the rum party, and he had been sent to hunt 
up the twins and invite them to attend a mass-meet¬ 
ing of that faction. He delivered his errand, and 
said the clans were already gathering in the big hall 
over the market-house. Luigi accepted the invita¬ 
tion cordially, Angelo less cordially, since he dis¬ 
liked crowds, and did not drink the powerful intox¬ 
icants of America. In fact, he was even a teetotaler 
sometimes—when it was judicious to be one. 

The twins left with Buckstone, and Tom Driscoll 
joined company with them uninvited. 

In the distance one could see a long wavering line 
of torches drifting down the main street, and could 
hear the throbbing of the bass drum, the clash of 
cymbals, the squeaking of a fife or two, and the 
faint roar of remote hurrahs. The tail end of this 
procession was climbing the market-house stairs when 
the twins arrived in its neighborhood; when they 
reached the hall it was full of people, torches, smoke, 
95 


MARK TWAIN 

noise, and enthusiasm. They were conducted to the 
platform by Buckstone—Tom Driscoll still following 
—and were delivered to the chairman in the midst 
of a prodigious explosion of welcome. When the 
noise had moderated a little, the chair proposed that 
“our illustrious guests be at once elected, by com¬ 
plimentary acclamation, to membership in our ever- 
glorious organization, the paradise of the free and 
the perdition of the slave.’’ 

This eloquent discharge opened the flood-gates of 
enthusiasm again, and the election was carried with 
thundering unanimity. Then arose a storm of cries: 

“Wet them down! Wet them down! Give them 
a drink!” 

Glasses of whisky were handed to the twins. 
Luigi waved his aloft, then brought it to his lips; 
but Angelo set his down. There was another storm 
of cries: 

‘ ‘ What’s the matter with the other one ?” * ‘ What 
is the blond one going back on us for?” “Explain! 
Explain!” 

The chairman inquired, and then reported: 

“We have made an unfortunate mistake, gentle¬ 
men. I find that the Count Angelo Capello is 
opposed to our creed—is a teetotaler, in fact, and 
was not Intending to apply for membership with us. 
He desires that we reconsider the vote by which he 
was elected. What is the pleasure of the house?” 

There was a general burst of laughter, plentifully 
accented with whistlings and cat-calls, but the en¬ 
ergetic use of the gavel presently restored something 
like order. Then a man spoke from the crowd, and 
06 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 


said that while he was very sorry that the mistake 
had been made, it would not be possible to rectify 
it at the present meeting. According to the by-laws 
it must go over to the next regular meeting for 
action. He would not offer a motion, as none was 
required. He desired to apologize to the gentleman 
in the name of the house, and begged to assure him 
that as far as it might lie in the power of the Sons 
of Liberty, his temporary membership in the order 
would be made pleasant to him. 

This speech was received with great applause, 
mixed with cries of: 

“That’s the talk!” “He’s a good fellow, any¬ 
way, if he is a teetotaler!” “Drink his health!” 
“Give him a rouser, and no heeltaps!” 

Glasses were handed around, and everybody on 
the platform drank Angelo’s health, while the house 
bellowed forth in song: 

For he’s a jolly good fel-low. 

For he’s a jolly good fel-low, 

For he’s a jolly good fe-el-low,— 

Which nobody can deny. 

Tom Driscoll drank. It was his second glass, for 
he had drunk Angelo’s the moment that Angelo had 
set it down. The two drinks made him very merry 
—almost idiotically so—and he began to take a 
most lively and prominent part in the proceedings, 
particularly in the music and cat-calls and side 
remarks. 

The chairman was still standing at the front, the 
twins at his side. The extraordinarily close resem¬ 
blance of the brothers to each other suggested a 
97 


MARK TWAIN 


witticism to Tom Driscoll, and just as the chairman 
began a speech he skipped forward and said with an 
air of tipsy confidence to the audience: 

“Boys, I move that he keeps still and lets this 
human philopena snip you out a speech.” 

The descriptive aptness of the phrase caught the 
house, and a mighty burst of laughter followed. 

Luigi’s southern blood leaped to the boiling-point 
in a moment under the sharp humiliation of this 
insult delivered in the presence of four hundred 
strangers. It was not in the young man’s nature to 
let the matter pass, or to delay the squaring of the 
account. He took a couple of strides and halted 
behind the unsuspecting joker. Then he drew back 
and delivered a kick of such titanic vigor that it 
lifted Tom clear over the footlights and landed him on 
the heads of the front row of the Sons of Liberty. 

Even a sober person does not like to have a human 
being emptied on him when he is not doing any 
harm; a person who is not sober cannot endure 
such an attention at all. The nest of Sons of 
Liberty that Driscoll landed in had not a sober bird 
in it; in fact, there was probably not an entirely 
sober one in the auditorium. Driscoll was promptly 
and indignantly flung onto the heads of Sons in the 
next row, and these Sons passed him on toward the 
rear, and then immediately began to pummel the 
front-row Sons who had passed him to them. This 
course was strictly followed by bench after bench as 
Driscoll traveled in his tumultuous and airy flight 
toward the door; so he left behind him an ever- 
lengthening wake of raging and plunging and fight- 
98 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

ing and swearing humanity. Down went group after 
group of torches, and presently above the deafening 
clatter of the gavel, roar of angry voices, and crash 
of succumbing benches, rose the paralyzing cry of 
“Fire!” 

The fighting ceased instantly; the cursing ceased; 
for one distinctly defined moment there was a dead 
hush, a motionless calm, where the tempest had 
been; then'with one impulse the multitude awoke to 
life and energy again, and went surging and strug¬ 
gling and swaying, this way and that, its outer edges 
melting away through windows and doors and 
gradually lessening the pressure and relieving the 
mass. 

The fire-boys were never on hand so suddenly be¬ 
fore ; for there was no distance to go, this time, their 
quarters being in the rear end of the market-house. 
There was an engine company and a hook-and- 
ladder company. Half of each was composed of 
rummies and the other half of anti-rummies, after 
the moral and political share-and-share-alike fashion 
of the frontier town of the period. Enough anti¬ 
rummies were loafing in quarters to man the engine 
and the ladders. In two minutes they had their red 
shirts and helmets on—they never stirred officially 
in unofficial costume—and as the mass-meeting 
overhead smashed through the long row of windows 
and poured out upon the roof of the arcade, the 
deliverers were ready for them with a powerful 
stream of water which washed some of them off the 
roof and nearly drowned the rest. But water was 
preferable to fire, and still the stampede from the 
99 


MARK TWAIN 


windows continued, and still the pitiless drenching 
assailed it until the building was empty; then the 
fire-boys mounted to the hall and flooded it with 
water enough to annihilate forty times as much fire 
as there was there; for a village fire company does 
not often get a chance to show off, and so when it 
does get a chance it makes the most of it. Such 
citizens of that village as were of a thoughtful and 
judicious temperament did not insure against fire; 
they insured against the fire company. 


CHAPTER XII 


Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear—not absence of 
fear. Except a creature be part coward it is not a compliment 
to say it is brave; it is merely a loose misapplication of the 
word. Consider the flea!—incomparably the bravest of all the 
creatures of God, if ignorance of fear were courage. Whether 
you are asleep or awake he will attack you, caring nothing for 
the fact that in bulk and strength you are to him as are the 
massed armies of the earth to a sucking child; he lives both 
day and night and all days and nights in the very lap of peril 
and the immediate presence of death, and yet is no more afraid 
than is the man who walks the streets of a city that was threat¬ 
ened by an earthquake ten centuries before. When we speak 
of Clive, Nelson, and Putnam as men who “ didn’t know what 
fear was,” we ought always to add the flea—and put him at 
the head of the procession.— Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar . 

J UDGE DRISCOLL was in bed and asleep by ten 
o’clock on Friday night, and he was up and 
gone a-fishing before daylight in the morning with 
his friend Pembroke Howard. These two had been 
boys together in Virginia when that state still ranked 
as the chief and most imposing member of the Union, 
and they still coupled the proud and affectionate 
adjective 4 ‘old” with her name when they spoke of 
her. In Missouri a recognized superiority attached 
to any person who hailed from Old Virginia; and 
this superiority was exalted to supremacy when a 
person of such nativity could also prove descent 
from the First Families of that great commonwealth. 


IOI 


MARK TWAIN 


The Howards and Driscolls were of this aristocracy. 
In their eyes it was a nobility. It had its unwritten 
laws, and they were as clearly defined and as strict 
as any that could be found among the printed 
statutes of the land. The F. F. V. was bom a 
gentleman; his highest duty in life was to watch over 
that great inheritance and keep it unsmirched. He 
must keep his honor spotless. Those laws were his 
chart; his course was marked out on it; if he swerved 
from it by so much as half a point of the compass it 
meant shipwreck to his honor; that is to say, degrada¬ 
tion from his rank as a gentleman. These laws re¬ 
quired certain things of him which his religion might 
forbid: then his religion must yield—the laws could 
not be relaxed to accommodate religions or anything 
else. Honor stood first; and the laws defined what 
it was and wherein it differed in certain details from 
honor as defined by church creeds and by the social 
laws and customs of some of the minor divisions of 
the globe that had got crowded out when the sacred 
boundaries of Virginia were staked out. 

If Judge Driscoll was the recognized first citizen 
of Dawson’s Landing, Pembroke Howard w T as easily 
its recognized second citizen. He was called “the 
great lawyer”—an earned title. He and Driscoll 
were of the same age—a year or two past sixty. 

Although Driscoll was a free-thinker and Howard 
a strong and determined Presbyterian, their warm 
intimacy suffered no impairment in consequence. 
They were men whose opinions were their own 
property and not subject to revision and amendment, 
suggestion or criticism, by anybody, even their friends. 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

The day’s fishing finished, they came floating 
down-stream in their skiff, talking national politics 
and other high matters, and presently met a skiff 
coming up from town, with a man in it who said: 

“I reckon you know one of the new twins gave 
your nephew a kicking last night, Judge?” 

“Did what?” 

“Gave him a kicking.” 

The old Judge’s lips paled, and his eyes began to 
flame. He choked with anger for a moment, then 
he got out what he was trying to say: 

4 ‘Well—well—go on! give me the details.” 

The man did it. At the finish the Judge was silent 
a minute, turning over in his mind the shameful 
picture of Tom’s flight over the footlights; then he 
said, as if musing aloud—“H’m—I don’t under¬ 
stand it. I was asleep at home. He didn’t wake 
me. Thought he was competent to manage his 
affair without my help, I reckon.” His face lit up 
with pride and pleasure at that thought, and he said 
with a cheery complacency, “I like that—it’s the 
true old blood—hey, Pembroke?” 

Howard smiled an iron smile, and nodded his head 
approvingly. Then the news-bringer spoke again: 

“But Tom beat the twin on the trial.” 

The Judge looked at the man wonderingly, and 
said: 

“The trial? What trial?” 

“Why, Tom had him up before Judge Robinson 
for assault and battery.” 

The old man shrank suddenly together like one 
who had received a death-stroke. Howard sprang 
103 


MARK TWAIN 

. 

for him as he sank forward in a swoon, and took 
him in his arms, and bedded him on his back in the 
boat. He sprinkled water in his face, and said to 
the startled visitor: 

“Go, now—don’t let him come to and find you 
here. You see what an effect your heedless speech 
has had; you ought to have been more considerate 
than to blurt out such a cruel piece of slander as 
that.” 

“I’m right down sony I did it now, Mr. Howard, 
and I wouldn’t have done it if I had thought: but it 
ain’t slander; it’s perfectly true, just as I told him.” 

He rowed away. Presently the old Judge came 
out of his faint and looked up piteously into the 
sympathetic face that was bent over him. 

“Say it ain’t true, Pembroke; tell me it ain’t 
true!” he said in a weak voice. 

There was nothing weak in the deep organ-tones 
that responded: 

“You know it’s a lie as well as I do, old friend. 
He is of the best blood of the Old Dominion.” 

“God bless you for saying it!” said the old gentle¬ 
man, fervently. ‘ ‘Ah, Pembroke, it was such a blow !’ 9 

Howard stayed by his friend, and saw him home, 
and entered the house with him. It was dark, and 
past supper-time, but the Judge was not thinking of 
supper; he was eager to hear the slander refuted 
from headquarters, and as eager to have Howard 
hear it, too. Tom was sent for, and he came im¬ 
mediately. He was bruised and lame, and was not 
a happy-looking object. His uncle made him sit 
down, and said: 


104 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

'‘We have been hearing about your adventure, 
Tom, with a handsome lie added to it for embellish¬ 
ment. Now pulverize that lie to dust! What 
measures have you taken? How does the thing 
stand?” 

Tom answered guilelessly: "It don’t stand at all; 
it’s all over. I had him up in court and beat him. 
Pudd’nhead Wilson defended him—first case he 
ever had, and lost it. The judge fined the miserable 
hound five dollars for the assault.” 

Howard and the Judge sprang to their feet with 
the opening sentence—why, neither knew; then 
they stood gazing vacantly at each other. Howard 
stood a moment, then sat mournfully down without 
saying anything. The Judge’s wrath began to 
kindle, and he burst out: 

"You cur! You scum! You vermin! Do you 
mean to tell me that blood oi my race has suffered a 
blow and crawled to a court of law about it ? Answer 
me!” 

Tom’s head dropped, and he answered with an 
eloquent silence. His uncle stared at him with a 
mixed expression of amazement and shame and in¬ 
credulity that was sorrowful to see. At last he said: 

"Which of the twins was it?” 

"Count Luigi.” 

"You have challenged him?” 

"N—no,” hesitated Tom, turning pale. 

"You will challenge him to-night. Howard will 
carry it.” 

Tom began to turn sick, and to show it. He 
turned his hat round and round in his hand, his 
I0 5 


8 


MARK TWAIN 


uncle glowering blacker and blacker upon him as the 
heavy seconds drifted by; then at last he began to 
stammer, and said piteously: 

“Oh, please don’t ask me to do it, uncle! He is 
a murderous devil—I never could—I—I’m afraid 
of him!” 

Old Driscoll’s mouth opened and closed three 
times before he could get it to perform its office; 
then he stormed out: 

“A coward in my family! A Driscoll a coward! 
Oh, what have I done to deserve this infamy!” 
He tottered to his secretary in the corner repeating 
that lament again and again in heartbreaking tones, 
and got out of a drawer a paper, which he slowly 
tore to bits, scattering the bits absently in his track 
as he walked up and down the room, still grieving 
and lamenting. At last he said: 

“There it is, shreds and fragments once more— 
my will. Once more you have forced me to disin¬ 
herit you, you base son of a most noble father! 
Leave my sight! Go—before I spit on you!” 

The young man did not tarry. Then the Judge 
turned to Howard: 

“You will be my second, old friend?” 

“Of course.” 

“There is pen and paper. Draft the cartel, and 
lose no time.” 

“The Count shall have it in his hands in fifteen 
minutes,” said Howard. 

Tom was very heavy-hearted. His appetite was 
gone with his property and his self-respect. He 
went out the back way and wandered down the 
iq6 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

obscure lane grieving, and wondering if any course 
of future conduct, however discreet and carefully 
perfected and watched over, could win back his 
uncle’s favor and persuade him to reconstruct once 
more that generous will which had just gone to ruin 
before his eyes. He finally concluded that it could. 
He said to himself that he had accomplished this 
sort of triumph once already, and that what had been 
done once could be done again. He would set about 
it. He would bend every energy to the task, and he 
would score that triumph once more, cost what it 
might to his convenience, limit as it might his frivo¬ 
lous and liberty-loving life. 

“To begin,” he said to himself, “I’ll square up 
with the proceeds of my raid, and then gambling has 
got to be stopped—and stopped short off. It’s the 
worst vice I’ve got—from my standpoint, anyway, 
because it’s the one he can most easily find out, 
through the impatience of my creditors. He thought 
it expensive to have to pay two hundred dollars to 
them for me once. Expensive— that! Why, it cost 
me the whole of his fortune—but of course he never 
thought of that; some people can’t think of any but 
their own side of a case. If he had known how deep 
I am in, now, the will would have gone to pot with¬ 
out waiting for a duel to help. Three hundred 
dollars! It’s a pile! But he’ll never hear of it, 
I’m thankful to say. The minute I’ve cleared it 
off, I’m safe; and I’ll never touch a card again. 
Anyway, I won’t while he lives, I make oath to that. 
I’m entering on my last reform—I know it—yes, and 
I’ll win; but after that, if I ever slip again I’m gone.” 

107 


CHAPTER XIII 


When I reflect upon the number of disagreeable people who I 
know have gone to a better world, I am moved to lead a different 
life.— Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar. 

October. This is one of the peculiarly dangerous months to 
speculate in stocks in. The others are July, January, September, 
April, November, May, March, June, December, August, and 
February.— Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar. 

T HUS mournfully communing with himself Tom 
moped along the lane past Pudd’nhead Wilson’s 
house, and still on and on between fences inclosing 
vacant country on each hand till he neared the 
haunted house, then he came moping back again, 
with many sighs and heavy with trouble. He sorely 
wanted cheerful company. Rowena! His heart gave 
a bound at the thought, but the next thought quieted 
it—the detested twins would be there. 

He was on the inhabited side of Wilson’s house, 
and now as he approached it he noticed that the 
sitting-room was lighted. This would do; others 
made him feel unwelcome sometimes, but Wilson 
never failed in courtesy toward him, and a kindly 
courtesy does at least save one’s feelings, even if it 
is not professing to stand for a welcome. Wilson 
heard footsteps at his threshold, then the clearing of 
a throat. 

108 .. 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

“It’s that fickle-tempered, dissipated young goose 
—poor devil, he finds friends pretty scarce to-day, 
likely, after the disgrace of carrying a personal- 
assault case into a law-court.” 

A dejected knock. “Come in!” 

Tom entered, and drooped into a chair, without 
saying anything. Wilson said kindly: 

“Why, my boy, you look desolate. Don’t take it 
so hard. Try and forget you have been kicked.” 

“Oh, dear,” said Tom, wretchedly, “it’s not that, 
Pudd’nhead—it’s not that.* It’s a thousand times 
worse than that—oh, yes, a million times worse.” 

* ‘ Why, Tom, what do you mean ? Has Rowena —’ 9 

“Flung me? No, but the old man has.” 

Wilson said to himself, “Aha!” and thought of 

the mysterious girl in the bedroom. “The Driscolls 
have been making discoveries!” Then he said 
aloud, gravely: 

* ‘ Tom, there are some kinds of dissipation which—” 

“Oh, shucks, this hasn’t got anything to do with 

dissipation. He wanted me to challenge that demed 
Italian savage, and I wouldn’t do it.” 

“Yes, of course he would do that,” said Wilson 
in a meditative matter-of-course way, “but the thing 
that puzzled me was, why he didn’t look to that last 
night, for one thing, and why he let you carry such 
a matter into a court of law at all, either before the 
duel or after it. It’s no place for it. It was not like 
him. I couldn’t understand it. How did it happen ?” 

“It happened because he didn’t know anything 
about it. He was asleep when I got home last 
night.” 


MARK TWAIN 


* ‘ And you didn’t wake him ? Tom, is that possible ?” 

Tom was not getting much comfort here. He 
fidgeted a moment, then said: 

“I didn’t choose to tell him—that’s all. He was 
going a-fishing before dawn, with Pembroke Howard, 
and if I got the twins into the common calaboose— 
and I thought sure I could—I never dreamed of 
their slipping out on a paltry fine for such an out¬ 
rageous offense—well, once in the calaboose they 
would be disgraced, and uncle wouldn’t want any 
duels with that sort of characters, and wouldn’t 
allow any.” 

“Tom, I am ashamed of you! I don’t see how 
you could treat your good old uncle so. I am a 
better friend of his than you are; for if I had known 
the circumstances I would have kept that case out 
of court until I got word to him and let him have 
a gentleman’s chance.” 

“You would?” exclaimed Tom, with lively sur¬ 
prise. “And it your first case! And you know 
perfectly well there never would have been any 
case if he had got that chance, don’t you? And 
you’d have finished your days a pauper nobody, 
instead of being an actually launched and recognized 
lawyer to-day. And you would really have done 
that, would you?” 

“Certainly.” 

Tom looked at him a moment or two, then shook 
his head sorrowfully and said: 

“I believe you—upon my word I do. I don’t 
know why I do, but I do. Pudd’nhead Wilson, I 
think you’re the biggest fool I ever saw.” 


no 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

“Thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

“Well, he has been requiring you to fight the 
Italian and you have refused. You degenerate 
remnant of an honorable line! I’m thoroughly 
ashamed of you, Tom!” 

“Oh, that’s nothing! I don’t care for anything, 
now that the will’s tom up again.” 

“Tom, tell me squarely—didn’t he find any fault 
with you for anything but those two things—• 
carrying the case into court and refusing to fight?” 

He watched the young fellow’s face narrowly, but 
it was entirely reposeful, and so also was the voice 
that answered: 

“No, he didn’t find any other fault with me. If 
he had had any to find, he would have begun yester¬ 
day, for he was just in the humor for it. He drove 
that jack-pair around town and showed them the 
sights, and when he came home he couldn’t find his 
father’s old silver watch that don’t keep time and he 
thinks so much of, and couldn’t remember what he 
did with it three or four days ago when he saw it 
last, and so when I arrived he was all in a sweat 
about it, and when I suggested that it probably 
wasn’t lost but stolen, it put him in a regular passion 
and he said I was a fool—which convinced me, 
without any trouble, that that was just what he was 
afraid had happened, himself, but did not want to 
believe it, because lost things stand a better chance 
of being found again than stolen ones.” 

“Whe-ew!” whistled Wilson; “score another on 
the list.” 


m 


MARK TWAIN 


“Another what?” 

“Another theft!” 

“Theft?” 

“Yes, theft. That watch isn’t lost, it’s stolen. 
There’s been another raid on the town—and just the 
same old mysterious sort of thing that has happened 
once before, as you remember.” 

“You don’t mean it!” 

“It’s as sure as you are bom! Have you missed 
anything yourself?” 

“No. That is, I did miss a silver pencil-case that 
Aunt Mary Pratt gave me last birthday—” 

“You’ll find it stolen—that’s what you’ll find.” 

“No, I sha’n’t; for when I suggested theft about 
the watch and got such a rap, I went and examined 
my room, and the pencil-case was missing, but it 
was only mislaid, and I found it again.” 

“You are sure you missed nothing else?” 

“Well, nothing of consequence. I missed a small 
plain gold ring worth two or three dollars, but that 
will turn up. I’ll look again.” 

“In my opinion you’ll not find it. There’s been 
a raid, I tell you. Come in!” 

Mr. Justice Robinson entered, followed by Buck- 
stone and the town constable, Jim Blake. They sat 
down, and after some wandering and aimless weather 
conversation Wilson said: 

“By the way, we’ve just added another to the list 
of thefts, maybe two. Judge Driscoll’s old silver 
watch is gone, and Tom here has missed a gold ring.” 

“Well, it is a bad business,” said the Justice, 
“and gets worse the further it goes. The Hankses, 

113 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 


the Dobsons, the Pilligrews, the Ortons, the Grangers, 
the Hales, the Fullers, the Holcombs, in fact every¬ 
body that lives around about Patsy Cooper’s has 
been robbed of little things like trinkets and tea¬ 
spoons and such-like small valuables that are easily 
carried off. It’s perfectly plain that the thief took 
advantage of the reception at Patsy Cooper’s when 
all the neighbors were in her house and all their 
niggers hanging around her fence for a look at the 
show, to raid the vacant houses undisturbed. Patsy 
is miserable about it; miserable on account of the 
neighbors, and particularly miserable on account of 
her foreigners, of course; so miserable on their 
account that she hasn’t any room to worry about her 
own little losses.” 

“It’s the same old raider,” said Wilson. “I 
suppose there isn’t any doubt about that.” 

“Constable Blake doesn’t think so.” 

“No, you’re wrong there,” said Blake; “the 
other times it was a man; there was plenty of signs 
of that, as we know, in the profession, though we 
never got hands on him; but this time it’s a woman.” 

Wilson thought of the mysterious girl straight off. 
She was always in his mind now. But she failed 
him again. Blake continued: 

“She’s a stoop-shouldered old woman with a 
covered basket on her arm, in a black veil, dressed 
in mourning. I saw her going aboard the ferry-boat 
yesterday. Lives in Illinois, I reckon; but I don’t 
care where she lives, I’m going to get her—she can 
make herself sure of that.” 

“What makes you think she’s the thief?” 

113 


MARK TWAIN 


“Well, there ain’t any other, for one tiling; and 
for another, some of the nigger draymen that hap¬ 
pened to be driving along saw her coming out of or 
going into houses, and told me so—and it just hap¬ 
pens that they was robbed houses, every time.” 

It was granted that this was plenty good enough 
circumstantial evidence. A pensive silence followed, 
which lasted some moments, then Wilson said: 

“There’s one good thing, anyway. She can’t 
either pawn or sell Count Luigi’s costly Indian 
dagger.” 

“My!” said Tom, “is that gone?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, that was a haul! But why can’t she pawn 
it or sell it?” 

“Because when the twins went home from the 
Sons of Liberty meeting last night, news of the raid 
was sifting in from everywhere, and Aunt Patsy was 
in distress to know if they had lost anything. They 
found that the dagger was gone, and they notified 
the police and pawnbrokers everywhere. It was a 
great haul, yes, but the old woman won’t get any¬ 
thing out of it, because she’ll get caught.” 

“Did they offer a reward?” asked Buckstone. 

“Yes; five hundred dollars for the knife, and five 
hundred dollars for the thief.” 

“What a leather-headed idea!” exclaimed the 
constable. “The thief da’sn’t go near them, nor 
send anybody. Whoever goes is going to get him¬ 
self nabbed, for there ain’t any pawnbroker that’s 
going to lose the chance to—” 

If anybody had noticed Tom’s face at that time, 

114 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

the gray-green color of it might have provoked 
curiosity; but nobody did. He said to himself: 
'‘I’m gone! I never can square up; the rest of the 
plunder won’t pawn or sell for half of the bill. Oh, 
I know it—I’m gone, I’m gone—and this time it’s 
for good. Oh, this is awful—I don’t know what to 
do, nor which way to turn!” 

“Softly, softly,” said Wilson to Blake. “I 
planned their scheme for them at midnight last night, 
and it was all finished up shipshape by two this 
morning. They’ll get their dagger back, and then 
I’ll explain to you how the thing was done.” 

There were strong signs of a general curiosity, and 
Buckstone said: 

“Well, you have whetted us up pretty sharp, 
Wilson, and I’m free to say that if you don’t mind 
telling us in confidence—” 

“Oh, I’d as soon tell as not, Buckstone, but as 
long as the twins and I agreed to say nothing about 
it, we must let it stand so. But you can take my 
word for it you won’t be kept waiting three days. 
Somebody will apply for that reward pretty prompt¬ 
ly, and I’ll show you the thief and the dagger both 
very soon afterward.” 

The constable was disappointed, and also per¬ 
plexed. He said: 

“It may all be—yes, and I hope it will, but I’m 
blamed if I can see my way through it. It’s too 
many for yours truly.” 

The subject seemed about talked out. Nobody 
seemed to have anything further to offer. After a 
silence the justice of the peace informed Wilson that 
ns 


MARK TWAIN 

he and Buckstone and the constable had come as a 
committee, on the part of the Democratic party, to 
ask him to run for mayor—for the little town was 
about to become a city and the first charter election 
was approaching. It was the first attention which 
Wilson had ever received at the hands of any party; 
it was a sufficiently humble one, but it was a recog¬ 
nition of his debut into the town’s life and activities 
at last; it was a step upward, and he was deeply 
gratified. He accepted, and the committee departed, 
followed by young Tom. 


CHAPTER XIV 


The true Southern watermelon is a boon apart, and not to be 
mentioned with commoner things. It is chief of this world’s 
luxuries, king by the grace of God over all the fruits of the 
earth. When one has tasted it, he knows what the angels eat. 
It was not a Southern watermelon that Eve took; we know it 
because she repented.— Pudd'nhead Wilson's Calendar. 

ABOUT the time that Wilson was bowing the 
committee out, Pembroke Howard was enter¬ 
ing the next house to report. He found the old 
Judge sitting grim and straight in his chair, waiting. 

4 ‘ Well, Howard—the news ?” 

“The best in the world.” 

“Accepts, does he?” and the light of battle gleamed 
joyously in the Judge’s eye. 

“Accepts? Why, he jumped at it.” 

“Did, did he? Now that’s fine—that’s very fine. 
I like that. When is it to be?” 

“Now! Straight off! To-night! An admirable 
fellow—admirable!” 

“Admirable? He’s a darling! Why, it’s an 
honor as well as a pleasure to stand up before such 
a man. Come—off with you! Go and arrange 
everything—and give him my heartiest compliments. 
A rare fellow, indeed; an admirable fellow, as you 
have said!” 

Howard hurried away, saying: 

117 .. * 


MARK TWAIN 


“Ill have him in the vacant stretch between 
Wilson’s and the haunted house within the hour, and 
I’ll bring my own pistols.” 

Judge Driscoll began to walk the floor in a state 
of pleased excitement; but presently he stopped, and 
began to think—began to think of Tom. Twice he 
moved toward the secretary, and twice he turned 
away again; but finally he said: 

“This may be my last night in the world—I must 
not take the chance. He is worthless and unworthy, 
but it is largely my fault. He was intrusted to me 
by my brother on his dying bed, and I have indulged 
him to his hurt, instead of training him up severely, 
and making a man of him. I have violated my trust, 
and I must not add the sin of desertion to that. I 
have forgiven him once already, and would subject 
him to a long and hard trial before forgiving him 
again, if I could live; but I must not run that risk. 
No, I must restore the will. But if I survive the 
duel, I will hide it away, and he will not know, and 
I will not tell him until he reforms, and I see that 
his reformation is going to be permanent.” 

He redrew the will, and his ostensible nephew 
was heir to a fortune again. As he was finishing his 
task, Tom, wearied with another brooding tramp, 
entered the house and went tiptoeing past the sitting- 
room door. He glanced in, and hurried on, for the 
sight of his uncle had nothing but terrors for him 
to-night. But his uncle was writing! That was 
unusual at this late hour. What could he be writing ? 
A chill of anxiety settled down upon Tom’s heart. 
Did that v/riting concern him? He was afraid so. 
iiS . 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

He reflected that when ill luck begins, it does not 
come in sprinkles, but in showers. He said he 
would get a glimpse of that document or know the 
reason why. He heard some one coming and 
stepped out of sight and hearing. It was Pembroke 
Howard. What could be hatching? 

Howard said, with great satisfaction: 

“Everything’s right and ready. He’s gone to the 
battle-ground with his second and the surgeon—also 
with his brother. I’ve arranged it all with Wilson— 
Wilson’s his second. We are to have three shots 
apiece.” 

“Good! How is the moon?” 

“Bright as day, nearly. Perfect, for the dis¬ 
tance—fifteen yards. No wind—not a breath; hot 
and still.” 

“All good; all first-rate. Here, Pembroke, read 
this, and witness it.” 

Pembroke read and witnessed the will, then gave 
the old man’s hand a hearty shake and said: 

“Now that’s right, York—but I knew you would 
do it. You couldn’t leave that poor chap to fight 
along without means or profession, with certain de¬ 
feat before him, and I knew you wouldn’t, for his 
father’s sake if not for his own.” 

“For his dead father’s sake I couldn’t, I know; 
for poor Percy—but you know what Percy was to 
me. But mind—Tom is not to know of this unless 
I fall to-night.” 

“I understand. I’ll keep the secret.” 

The Judge put the will away, and the two started 
for the battle-ground. In another minute the will 
119 


MARK TWAIN 


was in Tom’s hands. His misery vanished, his 
feelings underwent a tremendous revulsion. He put 
the will carefully back in its place, and spread his 
mouth and swung his hat once, twice, three times 
around his head, in imitation of three rousing 
huzzas, no sound issuing from his lips. He fell to 
communing with himself excitedly and joyously, 
but every now and then he let off another volley of 
dumb hurrahs. 

He said to himself: “I’ve got the fortune again, 
but I’ll not let on that I know about it. And this 
time I’m going to hang onto it. I take no more 
risks. I’ll gamble no more, I’ll drink no more, 
because—well, because I’ll not go where there is 
any of that sort of thing going on, again. It’s the 
sure way, and the only sure way; I might have 
thought of that sooner—well, yes, if I had wanted 
to. But now—dear me, I’ve had a scare this time, 
and I’ll take no more chances. Not a single chance 
more. Land! I persuaded myself this evening that 
I could fetch him around without any great amount 
of effort, but I’ve been getting more and more heavy- 
hearted and doubtful straight along, ever since. If 
he tells me about this thing, all right; but if he 
doesn’t, I sha’n’t let on. I—well, I’d like to tell 
Pudd’nhead Wilson, but—no, I’ll think about that; 
perhaps I won’t.” He whirled off another dead 
huzza, and said, “I’m reformed, and this time I’ll 
stay so, sure!” 

He was about to close with a final grand silent 
demonstration, when he suddenly recollected that 
Wilson had put it out of his power to pawn or sell 
120 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

the Indian knife, and that he was once more in awful 
peril of exposure by his creditors for that reason. 
His joy collapsed utterly, and he turned away and 
moped toward the door moaning and lamenting oyer 
the bitterness of his luck. He dragged himself up¬ 
stairs, and brooded in his room a long time discon¬ 
solate and forlorn, with Luigi’s Indian knife for a 
text. At last he sighed and said: 

“When I supposed these stones were glass and 
this ivory bone, the thing hadn’t any interest for me 
because it hadn’t any value, and couldn’t help me 
out of my trouble. But now—why, now it is full of 
interest; yes, and of a sort to break a body’s heart. 
It’s a bag of gold that has turned to dirt and ashes 
in my hands. It could save me, and save me so 
easily, and yet I’ve got to go to ruin. It’s like 
drowning wdth a life-preserver in my reach. All the 
hard luck comes to me, and all the good luck goes 
to other people—Pudd’head Wilson, for instance; 
even his career has got a sort of a little start at last, 
and what has he done to deserve it, I should like to 
know? Yes, he has opened his own road, but he 
isn’t content with that, but must block mine. It’s a 
sordid, selfish world, and I wish I was out of it.” 
He allowed the light of the candle to play upon the 
jewels of the sheath, but the flashings and sparklings 
had no charm for his eye; they were only just so 
many pangs to his heart. “I must not say anything 
to Roxy about this thing,” he said, “she is too 
daring. She would be for digging these stones out 
and selling them, and then—why, she would be 
arrested and the stones traced, and then—” The 


MARK TWAIN 


thought made him quake, and he hid the knife away, 
trembling all over and glancing furtively about, like 
a criminal who fancies that the accuser is already at 
hand. 

Should he try to sleep? Oh, no, sleep was not 
for him; his trouble was too haunting, too afflicting 
for that. He must have somebody to mourn with. 
He would carry his despair to Roxy. 

He had heard several distant gunshots, but that 
sort of thing was not uncommon, and they had made 
no impression upon him. He went out at the back 
door, and turned westward. He passed Wilson's 
house and proceeded along the lane, and presently 
saw several figures approaching Wilson’s place 
through the vacant lots. These were the duelists 
returning from the fight; he thought he recognized 
them, but as he had no desire for white people’s 
company, he stooped down behind the fence until 
they were out of his way. 

Roxy was feeling fine. She said: 

“Whah was you, child? Warn’t you in it?” 

“In what?” 

“In de duel.” 

“Duel? Has there been a duel?” 

“ ’Cos dey has. De old Jedge has be’n havin’ a 
duel wid one o’ dem twins.” 

“Great Scott!” Then he added to himself: 
“That’s what made him remake the will; he 
thought he might get killed, and it softened him 
toward me. And that’s what he and Howard were 
so busy about. ... Oh dear, if the twin had only 
killed him, I should be out of my—” 

122 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

“What is you mumblin’ ’bout, Chambers? Whah 
was you? Didn’t you know dey was gwyne to be a 
duel?” 

“No, I didn’t. The old man tried to get me to 
fight one with Count Luigi, but he didn’t succeed, 
so I reckon he concluded to patch up the family 
honor himself.” 

He laughed at the idea, and went rambling on 
with a detailed account of his talk with the Judge, 
and how shocked and ashamed the Judge was to find 
that he had a coward in his family. He glanced up 
at last, and got a shock himself. Roxana’s bosom 
was heaving with suppressed passion, and she was 
glowering down upon him with measureless contempt 
written in her face. 

“En you refuse’ to fight a man dat kicked you, 
’stid o’ jumpin’ at de chance! En you ain’t got no 
mo’ feelin’ den to come en tell me, dat fetched sich 
a po’ low-down ornery rabbit into de worl’! Pah! 
it makes me sick! It’s de nigger in you, dat’s ^ 
what it is. Thirty-one parts o’ you is white, en 
on’y one part nigger, en dat po’ little one part is 
yo’ soul. ’Tain’t wuth savin’; ’tain’t wuth totin’ out 
on a shovel en thro win’ in de gutter. You has dis¬ 
graced yo’ birth. What would yo’ pa think o’ you ? 
It’s enough to make him turn in his grave.” 

The last three sentences stung Tom into a fury, 
and he said to himself that if his father were only 
alive and in reach of assassination his mother would 
soon find that he had a very clear notion of the size 
of his indebtedness to that man, and was willing to 
pay it up in full, and would do it too, even at risk of 

m 


MARK TWAIN 


his life; but he kept his thought to himself; that was 
safest in his mother’s present state. 

“Whatever has come o’ yo’ Essex blood? Dat’s 
what I can’t understan’. En it ain’t on’y jist Es¬ 
sex blood dat’s in you, not by a long sight—’deed 
it ain’t! My great-great-great-gran’father en yo’ 
great-great-great-great-gran’father was Ole Cap’n 
John Smith, de highest blood dat Ole Virginny ever 
turned out, en his great-great-gran’mother or somers 
along back dah, was Pocahontas de Injun queen, en 
her husbun’ was a nigger king outen Africa—en yit 
here you is, a-slinkin’ outen a duel en disgracin’ our 
whole line like a ornery low-down hound! Yes, it’s 
de nigger in you!” 

She sat down on her candle-box and fell into a 
reverie. Tom did not disturb her; he sometimes 
lacked prudence, but it was not in circumstances of 
this kind. Roxana’s storm went gradually down, 
but it d'dd hard, and even when it seemed to be 
quite gone, it would now and then break out in a 
distant rumble, so to speak, in the form of muttered 
ejaculations. One of these was, “Ain’t nigger enough 
in him to show in his finger-nails, en dat takes mighty 
little—yit dey’s enough to paint his soul.” 

Presently she muttered, “Yassir, enough to paint 
a whole thimbleful of ’em.” At last her ramblings 
ceased altogether, and her countenance began to 
clear—a welcome sign to Tom, who had learned her 
moods, and knew she was on the threshold of good 
humor, now. He noticed that from time to time 
she unconsciously carried her finger to the end of 
her nose. He looked closer and said: 

124 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

“Why, mammy, the end of your nose is skinned. 
How did that come? ,, 

She sent out the sort of whole-hearted peal of 
laughter which God has vouchsafed in its perfection 
to none but the happy angels in heaven and the 
bruised and broken black slave on the earth, and 
said: 

“Dad fetch dat duel, I be’n in it myself.” 

“Gracious, did a bullet do that?” 

“Yassir, you bet it did!” 

“Well, I declare! Why, how did that happen?” 

“Happened dis-away. I ’uz a-sett’n’ here kinder 
dozin’ in de dark, en che-bang! goes a gun, right 
out dah. I skips along out towards t’other end o’ 
de house to see what’s gwyne on, en stops by de 
ole winder on de side towards Pudd’nhead Wilson’s 
house dat ain’t got no sash in it—but dey ain’t 
none of ’em got any sashes, fur as dat’s concerned, 
—en I stood dah in de dark en look out, en dar in 
,de moonlight, right down under me, ’uz one o’ de 
twins a-cussin’—not much, but jist a-cussin’ soft— 
it ’uz de brown one dat ’uz cussin’, ca’se he ’uz 
hit in de shoulder. E’n Dr. Claypool he ’uz a- 
workin’ at him, en Pudd’nhead Wilson he ’uz a- 
he’pin’, en ole Jedge Driscoll en Pern Howard ’uz 
a-standin’ out yonder a little piece waitin’ for ’em to 
git ready ag’in. En treckly dey squared off en give 
de word, en bang-bang went de pistols, en de twin he 
say, 'Ouch!’—hit him on de han’ dis time—en I 
hear dat same bullet go spat! ag’in de logs under 
de winder; en de nex’ time dey shoot, de twin say, 
'Ouch!’ ag’in, en I done it too, ’ca’se de bullet 

125 


MARK TWAIN 


glance on his cheek-bone en skip up here en glance 
on de side o’ de winder en whiz right acrost my face 
en tuck de hide off’n my nose—why, if I’d ’a’ be’n 
jist a inch or a inch en a half furder ’twould ’a’ 
tuck de whole nose en disfiggered me. Here’s de 
bullet; I hunted her up.” 

“Did you stand there all the time?” 

“Dat’s a question to ask, ain’t it! What else 
would I do? Does I git a chance to see a duel every 
day?” 

“Why, you were right in range! Weren’t you 
afraid?”.* 

The woman gave a sniff of scorn. 

“’Fraid! De Smith-Pocahontases ain’t ’fraid o’ 
nothin’, let alone bullets.” 

“They’ve got pluck enough, I suppose; what they 
lack is judgment. I wouldn’t have stood there.” 

“Nobody’s accusin’ you!” 

“Did anybody else get hurt?” 

“Yes, we all got hit ’cep’ de blon’ twin en de 
doctor en de seconds. De Jedge didn’t git hurt, 
but I hear Pudd’nhead say de bullet snip some o’ 
his ha’r off.” 

“’George!” said Tom to himself, “to come so 
near being out of my trouble, and miss it by an inch. 
Oh dear, dear, he will live to find me out and sell me 
to some nigger-trader yet—yes, and he would do it 
in a minute.” Then he said aloud, in a grave tone: 

“Mother, we are in a,n awful fix.” 

Roxana caught her breath with a spasm, and said: 

“Chile! What you hit a body so sudden for, 
like dat? What’s be’n en gone en happen’?” 

126 


PUDD'NHEAD WILSON 

“Well, there’s one thing I didn’t tell you. When 
I wouldn’t fight, he tore up the will again, and—” 

Roxana’s face turned a dead white, and she said: 

“Now you’s done !—done forever! Dat’s de end. 
Bofe un us is gwyne to starve to—” 

“Wait and hear me through, can’t you! I reckon 
that when he resolved to fight, himself, he thought 
he might get killed and not have a chance to forgive 
me any more in this life, so he made the will again, 
and I’ve seen it, and it’s all right. But—” 

“Oh, thank goodness, den we’s safe ag’in!—safe! 
en so what did you want to come here en talk sich 
dreadful—” 

“Hold on, I tell you, and let me finish. The swag 
I gathered won’t half square me up, and the first 
thing we know, my creditors—well, you know 
what ’ll happen.” 

Roxana dropped her chin, and told her son to 
leave her alone—she must think this matter out. 
Presently she said impressively: 

“You got to go mighty keerful now, I tell you! 
En here’s what you got to do. He didn’t git killed, 
en if you gives him de least reason, he’ll bust de will 
ag’in, en dat’s de las ’ time, now you hear me! So 
—you’s got to show him what you kin do in de nex’ 
few days. You’s got to be pison good, en let him 
see it; you got to do everything dat ’ll make him 
b’lieve in you, en you got to sweeten aroun’ old Aunt 
Pratt, too—she’s pow’ful strong wid de Jedge, en 
de bes’ frien’ you got. Nex’, you’ll go ’long away 
to Sent Louis, en dat ’ll keep him in yo’ favor. Den 
you go en make a bargain wid dem people. You 
127 


MARK WAIN 


tell ’em he ain’t gwyne to live long—en dat’s de 
fac’, too—en tell ’em you’ll pay ’em intrust, en 
big intrust, too—ten per—-what you call it?” 

“Ten per cent, a month?” 

‘‘ Dat’s it. Den you take and sell yo’ truck aroun’, 
a little at a time, en pay de intrust. How long will 
it las’?” 

“I think there’s enough to pay the interest five or 
six months.” 

“Den you’s all right. If he don’t die in six 
months, dat don’t make no diff’rence—Providence 
’ll provide. You’s gwyne to be safe—if you be¬ 
haves.” She bent an austere eye on him and add¬ 
ed, “En you is gwyne to behave—does you know 
dat?” 

He laughed and said he was going to try, anyway. 
She did not unbend. She said gravely: 

“Tryin’ ain’t de thing. You’s gwyne to do it. 
You ain’t gwyne to steal a pin—’ca’se it ain’t safe 
no mo’; en you ain’t gwyne into no bad company 
—not even once, you understand; en you ain’t 
gwyne to drink a drop—nary single drop; en you 
ain’t gwyne to gamble one single gamble—not one! 
Dis ain’t what you’s gwyne to try to do, it’s what 
you’s gwyne to do. En I’ll tell you how I knows 
it. Dis is how. I’s gwyne to foller along to Sent 
Louis my own self; en you’s gwyne to come to me 
every day o’ yo’ life, en I’ll look you over; en if 
you fails in one single one o’ dem things—jist one 
—I take my oath I’ll come straight down to dis 
town en tell de Jedge you’s a nigger en a slave— 
en prove it!” She paused to let her words sink 
12 $ 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 


home. Then she added, “Chambers, does you 
b’lieve me when I says dat?” 

Tom was sober enough now. There was no levity 
in his voice when he answered: 

“Yes, mother, I know, now, that I am reformed 
—and permanently. Permanently—and beyond the 
reach of any human temptation. ” 

“Den g’ long home en begin!” 


CHAPTER XV 


Nothing so needs reforming as other people’s habits. 


— Pudd'nhead Wilson's Calendar. 


Behold, the fool saith, “Put not all thine eggs in the one 
basket”—which is but a manner of saying, “Scatter your 
money and your attention”; but the wise man saith, “Put all 
your eggs in the one basket and— watch that basket.” 


— Pudd'nhead Wilson's Calendar. 



’HAT a time of it Dawson’s Landing was hav- 


vv ing! All its life it had been asleep, but now 
it hardly got a chance for a nod, so swiftly did big 
events and crashing surprises come along in one 
another’s wake: Friday morning, first glimpse of 
Real Nobility, also grand reception at Aunt Patsy 
Cooper’s, also great robber raid; Friday evening, 
dramatic kicking of the heir of the chief citizen in 
presence of four hundred people; Saturday morn¬ 
ing, emergence as practising lawyer of the long-sub¬ 
merged Pudd’nhead Wilson; Saturday night, duel 
between chief citizen and titled stranger. 

The people took more pride in the duel than in all 
the other events put together, perhaps. It was a 
glory to their town to have such a thing happen there. 
In their eyes the principals had reached the summit 
of human honor. Everybody paid homage to their 
names; their praises were in all mouths. Even the 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

duelists’ subordinates came in for a handsome share 
of the public approbation: wherefore Pudd’nhead 
Wilson was suddenly become a man of consequence. 
When asked to run for the mayoralty Saturday night 
he was risking defeat, but Sunday morning found him 
a made man and his success assured. 

The twins were prodigiously great, now; the town 
took them to its bosom with enthusiasm. Day after 
day, and night after night, they went dining and 
visiting from house to house, making friends, enlarg¬ 
ing and solidifying their popularity, and charming 
and surprising all with their musical prodigies, and 
now and then heightening the effects with samples of 
what they could do in other directions, out of their 
stock of rare and curious accomplishments. They 
were so pleased that they gave the regulation thirty 
days’ notice, the required preparation for citizenship, 
and resolved to finish their days in this pleasant 
place. That was the climax. The delighted com¬ 
munity rose as one man and applauded; and when 
the twins were asked to stand for seats in the forth¬ 
coming aldermanic board, and consented, the public 
contentment was rounded and complete. 

Tom Driscoll was not happy over these things; 
they sunk deep, and hurt all the way down. He 
hated the one twin for kicking him, and the other 
one for being the kicker’s brother. 

Now and then the people wondered why nothing 
was heard of the raider, or of the stolen knife or the 
other plunder, but nobody was able to throw any 
light on that matter. Nearly a week had drifted by, 
and still the thing remained a vexed mystery. 


MARK TWAIN 


On Saturday Constable Blake and Pudd’nhead 
Wilson met on the street, and Tom Driscoll joined 
them in time to open their conversation for them. 
He said to Blake: “You are not looking well, 
Blake; you seem to be annoyed about something. 
Has anything gone wrong in the detective business? 
I believe you fairly and justifiably claim to have a 
pretty good reputation in that line, isn’t it so?”— 
which made Blake feel good, and look it; but Tom 
added, “for a country detective”—which made 
Blake feel the other way, and not only look it, but 
betray it in his voice: 

“Yes, sir, I have got a reputation; and it’s as 
good as anybody’s in the profession, too, country 
or no country.” 

“Oh, I beg pardon; I didn’t mean any offense. 
What I started out to ask was only about the old 
woman that raided the town—the stoop-shouldered 
old woman, you know, that you said you were 
going to catch; and I knew you would, too, because 
you have the reputation of never boasting, and— 
well, you—you’ve caught the old woman?” 

“D- the old woman!” 

“Why, sho! you don’t mean to say you haven’t 
caught her?” 

“No; I haven’t caught her. If anybody could 
have caught her, I could; but nobody couldn’t, I 
don’t care who he is.” 

“I am sorry, real sorry—for your sake; be¬ 
cause, when it gets around that a detective has ex¬ 
pressed himself so confidently, and then—” 

“Don’t you worry, that’s all—don’t you worry; 

132 



PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

and as for the town, the town needn’t worry, either. 
She’s my meat—make yourself easy about that. 
I’m on her track; I’ve got clues that—” 

“That’s good! Now if you could get an old 
veteran detective down from St. Louis to help you 
find out what the clues mean, and where they lead 
to, and then—” 

“I’m plenty veteran enough myself, and I don’t 
need anybody’s help. I’ll have her inside of a we— 
inside of a month. That I’ll swear to!” 

Tom said carelessly: 

“I suppose that will answer—yes, that will 
answer. But I reckon she is pretty old, and old 
people don’t often outlive the cautious pace of the 
professional detective when he has got his clues 
together and is out on his still-hunt.” 

Blake’s dull face flushed under this gibe, but be¬ 
fore he could set his retort in order Tom had turned 
to Wilson, and was saying, with placid indifference 
of manner and voice: 

“Who got the reward, Pudd’nhead?” 

Wilson winced slightly, and saw that his own turn 
was come. 

“What reward?” 

“Why, the reward for the thief, and the other one 
for the knife.” 

Wilson answered—and rather uncomfortably, to 
judge by his hesitating fashion of delivering him¬ 
self: 

“Well, the—well, in fact, nobody has claimed it 
yet.” 

Tom seemed surprised. 

i33 


MARK TWAIN 


“Why, is that so?” 

Wilson showed a trifle of irritation when he 
replied: 

“Yes, it’s so. And what of it?” 

“Oh, nothing. Only I thought you had struck 
out a new idea, and invented a scheme that was 
going to revolutionize the time-worn and ineffectual 
methods of the—” He stopped, and turned to 
Blake, who was happy now that another had taken 
his place on the gridiron: “Blake, didn’t you un¬ 
derstand him to intimate that it wouldn’t be neces¬ 
sary for you to hunt the old woman down?” 

“B’George, he said he’d have thief and swag both 
inside of three days—he did, by hokey! and that’s 
just about a week ago. Why, I said at the time that 
no thief and no thief’s pal was going to try to pawn 
or sell a thing where he knowed the pawnbroker 
could get both rewards by taking him into camp with 
the swag. It was the blessedest idea that ever 1 
struck!” 

“You’d change your mind,” said Wilson, w r ith 
irritated bluntness, “if you knew the entire scheme 
instead of only part of it.” 

“Well,” said the constable, pensively, “I had 
the idea that it wouldn’t work, and up to now I’m 
right anyway.” 

“Very well, then, let it stand at that, and give it a 
further show. It has worked at least as well as your 
own methods, you perceive.” 

The constable hadn’t anything handy to hit back 
with, so he discharged a discontented sniff, and said 
nothing. 


PUDD’MHEAD WILSON 

After the night that Wilson had partly revealed his 
scheme at his house, Tom had tried for several days 
to guess out the secret of the rest of it, but had 
failed. Then it occurred to him to give Roxana’s 
smarter head a chance at it. He made up a suppos¬ 
ititious case, and laid it before her. She thought 
it over, and delivered her verdict upon it. Tom 
said to himself, “She’s hit it, sure!” He thought 
he would test that verdict;, now, and watch Wilson’s 
face; so he said reflectively: 

“Wilson, you’re not a fool—a fact of recent dis¬ 
covery. Whatever your scheme was, it had sense in 
it, Blake’s opinion to the contrary notwithstanding. 
I don’t ask you to reveal it, but I will suppose a 
case—a case which will answer as a starting-point 
for the real thing I am going to come at, and that’s 
all I want. You offered five hundred dollars for the 
knife, and five hundred for the thief. We will sup¬ 
pose, for argument’s sake, that the first reward is 
advertised and the second offered by private letter to 
pawnbrokers and—” 

Blake slapped his thigh, and cried out: 

“By Jackson, he’s got you, Pudd’nhead! Now 
why couldn’t I or any fool have thought of that?” 

Wilson said to himself, “Anybody with a reason¬ 
ably good head would have thought of it. I am not 
surprised that Blake didn’t detect it; lam only sur¬ 
prised that Tom did. There is more to him than I 
supposed.” He said nothing aloud, and Tom went 
on: 

“Very well. The thief would not suspect that 
there was a trap, and he would bring or send the 
i35 


MARK TWAIN 


knife, and say he bought it for a song, or found it 
in the road, or something like that, and try to col¬ 
lect the reward, and be arrested—wouldn’t he?” 

“Yes,” said Wilson. 

“I think so,” said Tom. “There can’t be any 
doubt of it. Have you ever seen that knife?” 

“No.” 

“Has any friend of yours?” 

“Not that I know of.” 

“Well, I begin to think I understand why your 
scheme failed.” 

“What do you mean, Tom? What are you driv¬ 
ing at?” asked Wilson, with a dawning sense of dis¬ 
comfort. 

“Why, that there isn't any such knife.” 

“Look here, Wilson,” said Blake, “Tom Dris¬ 
coll’s right, for a thousand dollars—if I had it.” 

Wilson’s blood warmed a little, and he wondered 
if he had been played upon by those strangers; it 
certainly had something of that look. But what 
could they gain by it? He threw out that sugges¬ 
tion. Tom replied: 

“Gain? Oh, nothing that you would value, 
maybe. But they are strangers making their way in 
a new community. Is it nothing to them to appear 
as pets of an Oriental prince—at no expense? Is 
it nothing to them to be able to dazzle this poor little 
town with thousand-dollar rewards—at no expense? 
Wilson, there isn’t any such knife, or your scheme 
would have fetched it to light. Or if there is any 
such knife, they’ve got it yet. I believe, myself, 
that they’ve seen such a knife, for Angelo pictured 
136 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

it out with his pencil too swiftly and handily for him 
to have been inventing it, and of course I can't swear 
that they've never had it; but this I’ll go bail for— 
if they had it when they came to this town, they've 
got it yet." 

Blake said: 

“It looks mighty reasonable, the way Tom puts 
it; it most certainly does." 

Tom responded, turning to leave: 

“You find the old woman, Blake, and if she can't 
furnish the knife, go and search the twins!" 

Tom sauntered away. Wilson felt a good deal de¬ 
pressed. He hardly knew what to think. He was 
loath to withdraw his faith from the twins, and was 
resolved not to do it on: the ' present indecisive 
evidence; but—well, he would think, and then de¬ 
cide how to act. 

“Blake, what do you think of this matter?" 

“Well, Pudd’nhead, I’m bound to say I put it up 
the way Tom does. They hadn't the knife; or if 
they had it, they've got it yet." 

The men parted. Wilson said to himself: 

“I believe they had it; if it had been stolen, the 
scheme would have restored it, that is certain. And 
so I believe they've got it yet." 

Tom had no purpose in his mind when he en¬ 
countered those two men. When he began his talk 
he hoped to be able to gall them a little and get a 
trifle of malicious entertainment out of it. But when 
he left, he left in great spirits, for he perceived that 
just by pure luck and no troublesome labor he had 
accomplished several delightful things: he had 
io 137 


MARK TWAIN 


touched both men on a raw spot and seen them 
squirm; he had modified Wilson’s sweetness for the 
twins with one small bitter taste that he wouldn’t be 
able to get out of his mouth right away; and, best 
of all, he had taken the hated twins down a peg 
with the community; for Blake would gossip around 
freely, after the manner of detectives, and within a 
week the town would be laughing at them in its sleeve 
for offering a gaudy reward for a bauble which they 
either never possessed or hadn’t lost. Tom was very 
well satisfied with himself. 

Tom’s behavior at home had been perfect during 
the entire week. His uncle and aunt had seen noth¬ 
ing like it before. They could find no fault with 
him anywhere. 

Saturday evening he said to the Judge: 

“I’ve had something preying on my mind, uncle, 
and as I am going away, and might never see you 
again, I can’t bear it any longer. I made you 
believe I was afraid to fight that Italian adventurer. 
I had to get out of it on some pretext or other, and 
maybe I chose badly, being taken unawares, but no 
honorable person could consent to meet him in the 
field, knowing what I know about him,” 

“Indeed? What was that?” 

“Count Luigi is a confessed assassin.” 

1 ‘ Incredible!” 

“It is perfectly true. Wilson detected it in his 
hand, by palmistry, and charged him with it, and 
cornered him up so close that he had to confess; 
but both twins begged us on their knees to keep the 
secret, and swore they would lead straight lives here; 

138 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 


and it was all so pitiful that we gave our word of 
honor never to expose them while they kept that 
promise. You would have done it yourself, uncle.’* 

4 ‘You are right, my boy; I would. A man’s 
secret is still his own property, and sacred, when it 
has been surprised out of him like that. You did 
well, and I am proud of you.” Then he added 
mournfully, “But I wish I could have been saved 
the shame of meeting an assassin on the field of 
honor.” 

“It couldn’t be helped, uncle. If I had known 
you were going to challenge him I should have felt 
obliged to sacrifice my pledged word in order to stop 
it, but Wilson couldn’t be expected to do otherwise 
than keep silent.” 

“Oh, no; Wilson did right, and is in no way to 
blame. Tom, Tom, you have lifted a heavy load 
from my heart; I was stung to the very soul when I 
seemed to have discovered that I had a coward in 
my family.” 

“You may imagine what it cost me to assume 
such a part, uncle.” 

“Oh, I know it, poor boy, I know it. And I can 
understand how much it has cost you to remain under 
that unjust stigma to this time. But it is all right 
now, and no harm is done. You have restored my 
comfort of mind, and with it your own; and both of 
us had suffered enough.” 

The old man sat awhile plunged in thought; then 
he looked up with a satisfied light in his eye, and 
said: “That this assassin should have put the affront 
upon me of letting me meet him on the field of 

i39 


MARK TWAIN 


honor as if he were a gentleman is a matter which 
I will presently settle—but not now. I will not 
shoot him until after election. I see a way to ruin 
them both before; I will attend to that first. Neither 
of them shall be elected, that I promise. You are 
sure that the fact that he is an assassin has not got 
abroad ?” 

“Perfectly certain of it, sir.” 

“It will be a good card. I will fling a hint at it 
from the stump on the polling day. It will sweep 
the ground from under both of them.” 

“There’s not a doubt of it. It will finish them.” 

“That and outside work among the voters will, to 
a certainty. I want you to come down here by an 
by and work privately among the rag-tag and bob- 
tail. You shall spend money among them; I will 
furnish it.” 

Another point scored against the detested twins! 
Really it was a great day for Tom. He was en¬ 
couraged to chance a parting shot, at the same 
target, and did it. 

“You know that wonderful Indian knife that the 
twins have been making such a to-do about? Well,' 
there’s no track or trace of it yet; so the town is 
beginning to sneer and gossip and laugh. Half the 
people believe they never had any such knife, the 
other half believe they had it and have got it still. 
I’ve heard twenty people talking like that to-day.” 

Yes, Tom’s blemishless week had restored him to 
the favor of his aunt and uncle. 

His mother was satisfied with him, too. Privately, 
she believed she was coming to love him, but she did 
140 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 


not say so. She told him to go along to St. Louis, 
now, and she would get ready and follow. Then 
she smashed her whisky bottle and said: 

“Dah now! I’s a-gwyne to make you walk as 
straight as a string, Chambers, en so I’s bown’ you 
ain’t gwyne to git no bad example out o’ yo’ mammy. 
I tole you you couldn’t go into no bad comp’ny. 
Well, you’s gwyne into my comp’ny, en I’s gwyne 
to fill de bill. Now, den, trot along, trot along!” 

Tom went aboard one of the big transient boats 
that night with his heavy satchel of miscellaneous 
plunder, and slept the sleep of the unjust, which is 
serener and sounder than the other kind, as we know 
by the hanging-eve history of a million rascals. But 
when he got up in the morning, luck was against him 
again: A brother thief had robbed him while he 
slept, and gone ashore at some intermediate landing. 


CHAPTER XVI 


If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous, he 
will not bite you. This is the principal difference between a 
dog and a man.— Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar. 

We know all about the habits of the ant, we know all about the 
habits of the bee, but we know nothing at all about the habits 
of the oyster. It seems almost certain that we have been 
choosing the wrong time for studying the oyster. 


— Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar. 



’HEN Roxana arrived, she found her son in 


V V such despair and misery that her heart was 
touched and her motherhood rose up strong in her. 
He was ruined past hope, now; his destruction would 
be immediate and sure, and he would be an outcast 
and friendless. That was reason enough for a mother 
to love a child; so she loved him, and told him so. 
It made him wince, secretly—for she was a “nigger.’* 
That he was one himself was far from reconciling 
him to that despised race. 

Roxana poured out endearments upon him, to 
which he responded uncomfortably, but as well as he 
could. And she tried to comfort him, but that was 
not possible. These intimacies quickly became hor¬ 
rible to him, and within the hour he began to try to 
get up courage enough to tell her so, and require that 
they be discontinued or very considerably modified. 
But he was afraid of her; and besides, there came a 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

lull, now, for she had begun to think. She was try¬ 
ing to invent a saving plan. Finally she started up, 
and said she had found a way out. Tom was almost 
suffocated by the joy of this sudden good news. 
Roxana said: 

'‘Here is de plan, en she’ll win, sure. I’s a nig¬ 
ger, en nobody ain’t gwyne to doubt it dat hears me 
talk. I’s wuth six hund’d dollahs. Take en sell 
me, en pay off dese gamblers.” 

Tom was dazed. He was not sure he had heard 
aright. He was dumb for a moment; then he said: 

“Do you mean that you would be sold into 
slavery to save me?” 

“Ain’t you my chile? En does you know any¬ 
thing dat a mother won’t do for her chile? Dey 
ain’t nothin’ a white mother won’t do for her chile. 
Who made ’em so? De Lord done it. En who 
made de niggers? De Lord made ’em. In de in¬ 
side, mothers is all de same. De good Lord he made 
’em so. I’s gwyne to be sole into slavery, en in a 
year you’s gwyne to buy yo’ ole mammy free ag’in. 
I’ll show you how. Dat’s de plan.” 

Tom’s hopes began to rise, and his spirits along 
with them. He said: 

“It’s lovely of you, mammy—it’s just—” 

“Say it ag’in! En keep on sayin’ it! It’s all 
de pay a body kin want in dis worl’, en it’s mo’ den 
enough. Laws bless you, honey, when I’s slavin’ 
aroun’, en dey ’buses me, if I knows you’s a-sayin’ 
dat, ’way off yonder somers, it ’ll heal up all de sore 
places, en I kin stan’ ’em.” 

“1 do say it again, mammy, and I’ll keep on say- 
143 


MARK TWAIN 


ing it, too. But how am I going to sell you? You’re 
free, you know.” 

“Much diff’rence dat make! White folks ain’t 
partic’lar. De law kin sell me now if dey tell me to 
leave de state in six months en I don’t go. You 
draw up a paper—bill o’ sale—en put it ’way off 
yonder, down in de middle o’ Kaintuck somers, en 
sign some names to it, en say you’ll sell me cheap 
’ca’se you’s hard up; you’ll find you ain’t gwyne to 
have no trouble. You take me up de country a 
piece, en sell me on a farm; den people ain’t gwyne 
to ask no questions if I’s a bargain.” 

Tom forged a bill of sale and sold his mother to an 
Arkansas cotton-planter for a trifle over six hundred 
dollars. He did not want to commit this treachery, 
but luck threw the man in his way, and this saved 
him the necessity of going up country to hunt up 
a purchaser, with the added risk of having to answer 
a lot of questions, whereas this planter was so pleased 
with Roxy that he asked next to none at all. Be¬ 
sides, the planter insisted that Roxy wouldn’t 
know where she was, at first, and that by the time 
she found out she would already have become 
contented. 

So Tom argued with himself that it was an im¬ 
mense advantage for Roxy to have a master who 
was as pleased with her, as this planter manifestly 
was. In almost no time his flowing reasonings car¬ 
ried him to the point of even half believing he was 
doing Roxy a splendid surreptitious service in sell¬ 
ing her “down the river.” And then he kept dili¬ 
gently saying to himself all the time: “It’s for only 
144 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 


a year. In a year I buy her free again; she’ll keep 
that in mind, and it ’ll reconcile her.” Yes, the lit¬ 
tle deception could do no harm, and everything 
would come out right and pleasant in the end, any¬ 
way. By agreement, the conversation in Roxy’s 
presence was all about the man’s ‘‘up-country” 
farm, and how pleasant a place it was, and how 
happy the slaves were there; so poor Roxy was en¬ 
tirely deceived; and easily, for she was not dreaming 
that her own son could be guilty of treason to a 
mother who, in voluntarily going into slavery—slav¬ 
ery of any kind, mild or severe, or of any duration, 
brief or long—was making a sacrifice for him com¬ 
pared with which death would have been a poor and 
commonplace one. She lavished tears and loving 
caresses upon him privately, and then went away 
with her owner—went away broken-hearted, and yet 
proud of what she was doing, and glad that it was 
in her power to do it. 

Tom squared his accounts, and resolved to keep 
to the very letter of his reform, and never to put 
that will in jeopardy again. He had three hundred 
dollars left. According to his mother’s plan, he was 
to put that safely away, and add her half of his 
pension to it monthly. In one year this fund would 
buy her free again. 

For a whole week he was not able to sleep well, so 
much the villainy which he had played upon his 
trusting mother preyed upon his rag of a conscience; 
but after that he began to get comfortable again, 
and was presently able to sleep like any other mis¬ 
creant. 


i45 


MARK TWAIN 


The boat bore Roxy away from St. Louis at four 
in the afternoon, and she stood on the lower guard 
abaft the paddle-box and watched Tom through a 
blur of tears until he melted into the throng of peo¬ 
ple and disappeared; then she looked no more, but 
sat there on a coil of cable crying till far into the 
night. When she went to her foul steerage bunk 
at last, between the clashing engines, it was not to 
sleep, but only to wait for the morning, and, wait¬ 
ing, grieve. 

It had been imagined that she 4 ‘would not know,*’ 
and would think she was traveling up-stream. She! 
Why, she had been steamboating for years. At 
dawn she got up and went listlessly and sat down 
on the cable-coil again. She passed many a snag 
whose ‘‘break” could have told her a thing to break 
her heart, for it showed a current moving in the same 
direction that the boat was going; but her thoughts 
were elsewhere, and she did not notice. But at last 
the roar of a bigger and nearer break than usual 
brought her out of her torpor, and she looked up, 
and her practised eye fell upon that telltale rush of 
water. For one moment her petrified gaze fixed 
itself there. Then her head dropped upon her 
breast, and she said: 

“Oh, de good Lord God have mercy on po* sin¬ 
ful me —Fs sole down de river!” 


CHAPTER XVII 


Even popularity can be overdone. In Rome, along at first, 
you are full of regrets that Michelangelo died; but by and by 
you only regret that you didn’t see him do it. 

— Pudd'nhead Wilson's Calendar. 

July 4. Statistics show that we lose more fools on this day 
than in all the other days of the year put together. This proves, 
by the number left in stock, that one Fourth of July per year 
is now inadequate, the country has grown so. 

— Pudd’nhead Wilson's Calendar . 

T HE summer weeks dragged by, and then the 
political campaign opened—opened in pretty 
warm fashion, and waxed hotter and hotter daily. 
The twins threw themselves into it with their whole 
heart, for their self-love was engaged. Their popu¬ 
larity, so general at first, had suffered afterward; 
mainly because they had been too popular, and so a 
natural reaction had followed. Besides, it had been 
diligently whispered around that it was curious— 
indeed, very curious—that that wonderful knife of 
theirs did not turn up —if it was so valuable, or if 
it had ever existed. And with the whisperings went 
chucklings and nudgings and winks, and such things 
have an effect. The twins considered that success 
in the election would reinstate them, and that defeat 
would work them irreparable damage. Therefore 
i47 


MARK TWAIN 


they worked hard, but not harder than Judge Dris¬ 
coll and Tom worked against them in the closing 
days of the canvass. Tom’s conduct had remained 
so letter-perfect during two whole months, now, that 
his uncle not only trusted him with money with 
which to persuade voters, but trusted him to go 
and get it himself out of the safe in the private 
sitting-room. 

The closing speech of the campaign was made by 
Judge Driscoll, and he made it against both of the 
foreigners. It was disastrously effective. He poured 
out rivers of ridicule upon them, and forced the big 
mass-meeting to laugh and applaud. He scoffed at 
them as adventurers, mountebanks, side-show riff¬ 
raff, dime-museum freaks; he assailed their showy 
titles with measureless derision; he said they were 
back-alley barbers disguised as nobilities, peanut- 
peddlers masquerading as gentlemen, organ-grinders 
bereft of their brother monkey. At last he stopped 
and stood still. He waited until the place had be¬ 
come absolutely silent and expectant, then he de¬ 
livered his deadliest shot; delivered it with ice-cold 
seriousness and deliberation, with a significant em¬ 
phasis upon the closing words: he said that he be¬ 
lieved that the reward offered for the lost knife was 
humbug and buncombe, and that its owner would 
know where to find it whenever he should have oc¬ 
casion to assassinate somebody. 

Then he stepped from the stand, leaving a startled 
and impressive hush behind him instead of the cus¬ 
tomary explosion of cheers and party cries. 

The strange remark flew far and wide over the 
148 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 


town and made an extraordinary sensation. Every¬ 
body was asking, “What could he mean by that?” 

And everybody went on asking that question, but 
in vain; for the Judge only said he knew what he 
was talking about, and stopped there; Tom said he 
hadn’t any idea what his uncle meant, and Wilson, 
whenever he was asked what he thought it meant, 
parried the question by asking the questioner what 
he thought it meant. 

Wilson was elected, the twins were defeated— 
crushed, in fact, and left forlorn and substantially 
friendless. Tom went back to St. Louis happy. 

Dawson’s Landing had a week of repose, now, and 
it needed it. But it was in an expectant state, for 
the air was full of rumors of a new deal. Judge 
Driscoll’s election labors had prostrated him, but 
it was said that as soon as he was well enough to 
entertain a challenge he would get one from Count 
Luigi. 

The brothers withdrew entirely from society, and 
nursed their humiliation in privacy. They avoided 
the people, and went out for exercise only late at 
night, when the streets were deserted. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


Gratitude and treachery are merely the two extremities of the 
same procession. You have seen all of it that is worth staying 
for when the band and the gaudy officials have gone by. 

— Pudd'nhead Wilson's Calendar. 

Thanksgiving Day. Let all give humble, hearty, and sincere 
thanks, now, but the turkeys. In the island of Fiji they do not 
use turkeys; they use plumbers. It does not become you and 
me to sneer at Fiji.— Pudd'nhead Wilson's Calendar. 

T HE Friday after the election was a rainy one in 
St. Louis. It rained all day long, and rained 
hard, apparently trying its best to wash that soot- 
blackened town white, but of course not succeeding. 
Toward midnight Tom Driscoll arrived at his lodg¬ 
ings from the theater in the heavy downpour, and 
closed his umbrella and let himself in; but when he 
would have shut the door, he found that there was 
another person entering—doubtless another lodger; 
this person closed the door and tramped up-stairs 
behind Tom. Tom found his door in the dark, and 
entered it and turned up the gas. When he faced 
about, lightly whistling, he saw the back of a man. 
The man was closing and locking his door for him. 
His whistle faded out and he felt uneasy. The man 
turned around, a wreck of shabby old clothes, sod¬ 
den with rain and all a-drip, and showed a black face 

150 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

under an old slouch hat. Tom was frightened. He 
tried to order the man out, but the words refused to 
come, and the other man got the start. He said, in 
a low voice: 

“Keep still—I’s yo’ mother!” 

Tom sunk in a heap on a chair, and gasped out: 

“It was mean of me, and base—I know it; but 
I meant it for the best, I did indeed—I can swear it.” 

Roxana stood awhile looking mutely down on him 
while he writhed in shame and went on incoherently 
babbling self-accusations mixed with pitiful attempts 
at explanation and palliation of his crime; then she 
seated herself and took off her hat, and her unkempt 
masses of long brown hair tumbled down about her 
shoulders. 

“It ain’t no fault o’ yo’n dat dat ain’t gray,” she 
said sadly, noticing the hair. 

“I know it, I know it! I’m a scoundrel. But I 
swear I meant it for the best. It was a mistake, of 
course, but I thought it was for the best, I truly 
did.” 

Roxy began to cry softly, and presently words be¬ 
gan to find their way out between her sobs. They 
were uttered lamentingly, rather than angrily: 

“Sell a pusson down de river —down de river !— 
for de bes’! I wouldn’t treat a dog so! I is all 
broke down en wore out, now, en so I reckon it ain’t 
in me to storm aroun’ no mo’, like I used to when 
I ’uz trompled on en ’bused. I don’t know—but 
maybe it’s so. Leastways, I’s suffered so much dat 
mournin’ seem to come mo’ handy to me now den 
stormin’.” 

151 


MARK TWAIN 

These words should have touched Tom Driscoll, 
but, if they did, that effect was obliterated by a 
stronger one—one which removed the heavy weight 
of fear which lay upon him, and gave his crushed 
spirit a most grateful rebound, and filled all his small 
soul with a deep sense of relief. But he kept pru¬ 
dently still, and ventured no comment. There was 
a voiceless interval of some duration, now, in which 
no sounds were heard but the beating of the rain 
upon the panes, the sighing and complaining of the 
winds, and now and then a muffled sob from Roxana. 
The sobs became more and more infrequent, and at 
last ceased. Then the refugee began to talk again. 

“Shet down dat light a little. More. More yit. 
A pusson dat is hunted don’t like de light. Dah 
—dat ’ll do. I kin see whah you is, en dat’s enough. 
I’s gwyne to tell you de tale, en cut it jes as short 
as I kin, en den I’ll tell you what you’s got to do. 
Dat man dat bought me ain’t a bad man; he’s good 
enough, as planters goes; en if he could ’a’ had his 
way I’d ’a’ be’n a house-servant in his fambly en 
be’n comfortable: but his wife she was a Yank, en 
not right down good-lookin’, en she riz up agin me 
straight off; so den dey sent me out to de quarter 
’mongst de common fie 1’ ban’s. Dat woman warn’t 
satisfied even wid dat, but she worked up de over¬ 
seer agin me, she ’uz dat jealous en hateful; so de 
overseer he had me out befo’ day in de mawnin’s 
en worked me de whole long day as long as dey ’uz 
any light to see by; en many’s de lashin’s I got 
’ca’se I couldn’t come up to de work o’ de stronges’. 
Dat overseer wuz a Yank, too, outen New England 
152 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

en anybody down South kin tell you what dat mean. 
Bey knows how to work a nigger to death, en dey 
knows how to whale ’em, too—whale ’em till dey 
backs is welted like a washboard. ’Long at fust my 
marster say de good word for me to de overseer, but 
dat ’uz bad for me; for de mistis she fine it out, en 
arter dat I jis ketched it at every turn—dey warn’t 
no mercy for me no mo’.” 

Tom’s heart was fired—with fury against the 
planter’s wife; and he said to himself, “But for that 
meddlesome fool, everything would have gone all 
right.” He added a deep and bitter curse against 
her. 

The expression of this sentiment was fiercely 
written in his face, and stood thus revealed to 
Roxana by a white glare of lightning which turned 
the somber dusk of the room into dazzling day at 
that moment. She was pleased—pleased and grate¬ 
ful; for did not that expression show that her child 
was capable of grieving for his mother’s wrongs and 
of feeling resentment toward her persecutors?—a 
thing which she had been doubting. But her flash 
of happiness was only a flash, and went out again 
and left her spirit dark; for she said to herself, “He 
sole me down de river—he can’t feel for a body 
long: dis ’ll pass en go.” Then she took up her 
tale again. 

“’Bout ten days ago I ’uz sayin’ to myself dat I 
couldn’t las’ many mo’ weeks I ’uz so wore out wid 
de awful work en de lashin’s, en so downhearted en 
misable. En I didn’t care no mo’, nuther—life 
warn’t wuth noth’n’ to me, if I got to go on like dat. 
i S3 


ii 


MARK TWAIN 

Well, when a body is in a frame o’ mine like dat, 
what do a body care what a body do? Dey was a 
little sickly nigger wench ’bout ten year ole dat ’uz 
good to me, en hadn’t no mammy, po’ thing, en I 
loved her en she loved me; en she come out whah I 
’uz workin’, en she had a roasted tater, en tried to slip 
it to me—robbin’ herself, you see, ’ca’se she knowed 
de overseer didn’t gimme enough to eat—en he 
ketched her at it, en give her a lick acrost de back 
wid his stick, which ’uz as thick as a broom-handle, 
en she drop’ screamin’ on de groun’, en squirmin’ 
en wallerin’ aroun’ in de dust like a spider dat’s got 
crippled. I couldn’t stan’ it. All de hell-fire dat 
’uz ever in my heart flame’ up, en I snatch de stick 
outen his han’ en laid him flat. He laid dah moanin’ 
en cussin’, en all out of his head, you know, en de 
niggers ’uz plumb sk’yerd to death. Dey gathered 
roun’ him to he’p him, en I jumped on his hoss en 
took out for de river as tight as I could go. I 
knowed what dey would do wid me. Soon as he 
got well he would start in en work me to death if 
marster let him; en if dey didn’t do dat, dey’d sell 
me furder down de river, en dat’s de same thing. 
So I ’lowed to drown myself en git out o’ my troubles. 
It ’uz gitt’n’ towards dark. I ’uz at de river in two 
minutes. Den I see a canoe, en I says dey ain’t no 
use to drown myself tell I got to; so I ties de hoss 
in de edge o’ de timber en shove out down de river,, 
keepin’ in under de shelter o’ de bluff bank en 
prayin’ for de dark to shet down quick. I had a 
pow’ful good start, ’c’ase de big house ’uz three mile 
back f’om de river en on’y de work-mules to ride 
i54 


PUDD'NHEAD WILSON 

dah on, en on’y niggers to ride 'em, en dey wam’t 
gwyne to hurry—dey’d gimme all de chance dey 
could. Befo’ a body could go to de house en back 
it would be long pas' dark, en dey couldn’t track de 
hoss en fine out which way I went tell mawnin’, en 
de niggers would tell ’em all de lies dey could ’bout it. 

“Well, de dark come, en I went on a-spinnin’ 
down de river. I paddled mo’n two hours, den I 
wam’t worried no mo’, so I quit paddlin’, en floated 
down de current, considerin’ what I ’uz gwyne to do 
if I didn’t have to drown myself. I made up some 
plans, en floated along, turnin’ ’em over in my 
mine. Well, when it ’uz a little pas’ midnight, as I 
reckoned, en I had come fifteen or twenty mile, I 
see de lights of a steamboat layin’ at de bank, whah 
dey warn’t no town en no wood-yard, en putty soon 
I ketched de shape o’ de chimbly-tops agin de 
stars, en de good gracious me, I ’most jumped out 
o’ my skin for joy! It ’uz Gran ’ Mogul—~I ’uz 
chambermaid on her for eight seasons in de Cincin¬ 
nati en Orleans trade. I slid ’long pas’—don’t see 
nobody stirrin’ nowhah—hear ’em a-hammerin’ 
away in de engine-room, den I knowed what de 
matter was—some o’ de machinery’s broke. I got 
asho’ below de boat en turn’ de canoe loose, den I 
goes ’long up, en dey ’uz jes one plank out, en I 
step’ ’board de boat. It-uz’ pow’ful hot, deck-han’s 
en roustabouts ’uz sprawled aroun’ asleep on de 
fo’cas’l’, de second mate, Jim Bangs, he sot dah on 
de bitts wid his head down, asleep—’ca’se dat’s de 
way de second mate stan’ de cap’n’s watch!—en 
de ole watchman, Billy Hatch, he ’uz a-noddin' on 
i$S 


MARK (i TWAIN 

de companionway;—en I knowed ’em all; ’en, Ian’, 
but dey did look good! I says to myself, I wished 
old marster’d come along now en try to take me 
—bless yo’ heart, I’s ’mong frien’s, I is. So I 
tromped right along ’mongst ’em, en went up on de 
b’iler-deck en ’way back aft to de ladies’ cabin 
guard, en sot down dah in de same cheer dat I’d 
sot in ’mos’ a hund’d million times, I reckon; en it 
’uz jist home ag’in, I tell you! 

“In ’bout an hour I heard de ready-bell jingle, 
en den de racket begin. Putty soon I hear de gong 
strike. ‘Set her back on de outside,’ I says to my¬ 
self—T reckon I knows dat music!’ I hear de gong 
ag’in. ‘Come ahead on de inside,’ I says. Gong 
ag’in. ‘Stop de outside.’ Gong ag’in. ‘Come ahead 
on de outside—now we’s pinted for Sent Louis, 
en I’s outer de woods en ain’t got to drown myself 
at all.’ I knowed de Mogul ’uz in de Sent Louis 
trade now, you see. It ’uz jes fair daylight when 
we passed our plantation, en I seed a gang o’ niggers 
en white folks huntin’ up en down de sho’, en 
troublin’ deyselves a good deal ’bout me; but I 
warn’t troublin’ myself none ’bout dem. 
i “’Bout dat time Sally Jackson, dat used to be 
my second chambermaid en ’uz head chambermaid 
now, she come out on de guard, en ’uz pow’ful glad 
to see me, en so ’uz all de officers; en I tole ’em 
I’d got kidnapped en sole down de river, en dey 
made me up twenty dollahs en give it to me, en Sally 
she rigged me out wid good clo’es, en when I got 
here I went straight to whah you used to wuz, en 
den I come to dis house, en dey say you’s away but 

156 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 


‘spected back every day; so I didn’t dast to go down 
de river to Dawson’s, ’ca’se I might miss you. 

“Well, las’ Monday I ’uz pass’n’ by one o’ dem 
places in Fourth Street whah deh sticks up runaway- 
nigger bills, en he’ps to ketch ’em, en I seed my 
marster! I ’mos’ flopped down on de groun’, I felt 
so gone. He had his back to me, en ’uz talkin’ to 
de man en givin’ him some t bills—nigger-bills, I 
reckon, en I’s de nigger. He’s offerin’ a reward— 
dat’s it. Ain’t I right, don’t you reckon?” 

Tom had been gradually sinking into a state of 
ghastly terror, and he said to himself, now: “I’m 
lost, no matter what turn things take! This man 
has said to me that he thinks there was something 
suspicious about that sale. He said he had a letter 
from a passenger on the Grand Mogul saying that 
Roxy came here on that boat and that everybody on 
board knew all about the case; so he says that her 
coming here instead of flying to a free state looks 
bad for me, and that if I don’t find her for him, and 
that pretty soon, he will make trouble for me. I 
never believed that story; I couldn’t believe she 
would be so dead to all motherly instincts as to 
come here, knowing the risk she would run of getting 
me into irremediable trouble. And after all, here 
she is! And I stupidly swore I would help him find 
her, thinking it was a perfectly safe thing to promise. 
If I venture to deliver her up, she—she—but how 
can I help myself? I’ve got to do that or pay the 
money, and where’s the money to come from? I— 
I—well, I should think that if he would swear to 
treat her kindly hereafter—and she says, herself, that 
iS7 


MARK TWAIN 


he is a good man—and if he would swear to never 
allow her to be overworked, or ill fed, or—” 

A flash of lightning exposed Tom’s pallid face, 
drawn and rigid with these worrying thoughts. 
Roxana spoke up sharply now, and there was appre¬ 
hension in her voice: 

“Turn up dat light! I want to see yo’ face 
better. Dah now—lemme look at you. Chambers, 
you’s as white as yo’ shirt! Has you seen dat man? 
Has he be’n to see you?” 

“Ye-s.” 

“When?” 

“Monday noon.” 

“Monday noon! Was he on my track?” 

“He—well, he thought he was. That is, he 
hoped he was. This is the bill you saw.” He took 
it out of his pocket. 

“Read it to me!” 

She was panting with excitement, and there was a 
dusky glow in her eyes that Tom could not translate 
with certainty, but there seemed to be something 
threatening about it. The handbill had the usual 
rude woodcut of a turbaned negro woman running, 
with the customary bundle on a stick over her 
shoulder, and the heading in bold type, “$ioo 
Reward.” Tom read the bill aloud—at least the 
part that described Roxana and named the master 
and his St. Louis address and the address of the 
Fourth Street agency; but he left out the item that 
applicants for the reward might also apply to Mr. 
Thomas Driscoll. 

“Gimme de bill!” 

158 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

Tom had folded it and was putting it in his pocket. 
He felt a chilly streak creeping down his back, but 
said as carelessly as he could: 

“The bill? Why, it isn’t any use to you, you 
can’t read it. What do you want with it?” 

“Gimme de bill!” Tom gave it to her, but with 
a reluctance which he could not entirely disguise. 
“Did you read it all to me?” 

“Certainly I did.” 

“Hole up yo’ han’ en swah to it.” 

Tom did it. Roxana put the bill carefully away 
in her pocket, with her eyes fixed upon Tom’s face 
all the while; then she said: 

“Yo’s lyin’!” 

“What would I want to lie about it for?” 

“I don’t know—but you is. Dat’s my opinion, 
anyways. But nemmine ’bout dat. When I seed 
dat man I ’uz dat sk’yerd dat I could sca’cely wabble 
home. Den I give a nigger man a dollar for dese 
clo’es, en I ain’t be’n in a house sence, night ner 
day, till now. I blackened my face en laid hid in 
de cellar of a ole house dat’s burnt down, daytimes, 
en robbed de sugar hogsheads en grain-sacks on de 
wharf, nights, to git somethin’ to eat, en never dast 
to try to buy noth’n’, en I’s mos’ starved. En I 
never dast come near dis place till dis rainy night, 
when dey ain’t no people roun’ sca’cely. But to¬ 
night I be’n a-stannin’ in de dark alley ever sence 
night come, waitin’ for you to go by. En here 
I is.” 

She fell to thinking. Presently she said: 

“You seed dat man at noon, las’ Monday?” 

159 


MARK TWAIN 


“Yes.” 

“I seed him de middle o’ dat artemoon. He 
hunted you up, didn’t he?” 

“Yes.” 

“Did he give you de bill dat time?” 

“No, he hadn’t got it printed yet.” 

Roxana darted a suspicious glance at him. 

“Did you he’p him fix up de bill?” 

Tom cursed himself for making that stupid blun¬ 
der, and tried to rectify it by saying he remembered, 
now, that it was at noon Monday that the man 
gave him the bill. Roxana said: 

“You’s lyin’ ag’in, sho.” Then she straightened 
up and raised her finger: 

“Now den! I’s gwyne to ask you a question, en 
I wants to know how you’s gwyne to git aroun’ it. 
You knowed he ’uz arter me; en if you run off, 
’stid o’ stayin’ here to he’p him, he’d know dey ’uz 
somethin’ wrong ’bout dis business, en den he would 
inquire ’bout you, en dat would take him to yo’ 
uncle, en yo’ uncle would read de bill en see dat you 
be’n sellin’ a free nigger down de river, en you know 
him, I reckon! He’d t’ar up de will en kick you 
outen de house. Now, den, you answer me dis 
question: Hain’t you tole dat man dat I would be 
sho’ to come here, and den you would fix it so he 
could set a trap en ketch me?” 

Tom recognized that neither lies nor argument 
could help him any longer—he was in a vise, with 
the screw turned on, and out of it there was no 
budging. His face began to take on an ugly look, 
and presently he said, with a snarl: 

160 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

“Well, what could I do? You see, yourself, that 
I was in his grip and couldn’t get out.” 

Roxy scorched him with a scornful gaze awhile, 
then she said: 

“What could you do? You could be Judas to 
yo’ own mother to save yo’ wuthless hide! Would 
anybody b’lieve it? No—a dog couldn’t! You is 
de low-downest orneriest hound dat was ever pup’d 
into dis worl’—en I’s ’sponsible for it!”—and she 
spat on him. 

He made no effort to resent this. Roxy reflected 
a moment, then she said: 

“Now I’ll tell you what you’s gwyne to do.' 
You’s gwyne to give dat man de money dat you’s 
got laid up, en make him wait till you kin go to de 
Jedge en git de res’ en buy me free ag’in.” 

“Thunder! what are you thinking of? Go and 
ask him for three hundred dollars and odd? What 
would I tell him I want with it, pray?” 

Roxy’s answer was delivered in a serene and level 
voice: 

“You’ll tell him you’s sole me to pay yo’ gamblin’ 
debts en dat you lied to me en was a villain, en dat 
I ’quires you to git dat money en buy me back 
ag’in.” 

“Why, you’ve gone stark mad! He would tear 
the will to shreds in a minute—don’t you know 
that?” 

“Yes, I does.” 

“Then you don’t believe I’m idiot enough to go 
to him, do you?” 

“I don’t b’lieve nothin’ ’bout it—I knows you’s 
161 


MARK TWAIN 


a-goin\ I knows it ’ca’se you knows dat if you 
don’t raise dat money I’ll go to him myself, en den 
he’ll sell you down de river, en you kin see how 
you like it!” 

Tom rose, trembling and excited, and there was 
an evil light in his eye. He strode to the door and 
said he must get out of this suffocating place for a 
moment and clear his brain in the fresh air so that 
he could determine what to do. The door wouldn’t 
open. Roxy smiled grimly, and said: 

“I’s got de key, honey—set down. You needn’t 
cle’r up yo’ brain none to fine out what you gwyne 
to do. I knows what you’s gwyne to do.” Tom 
sat down and began to pass his hands through his 
hair with a helpless and desperate air. Roxy said, 
‘‘Is dat man in dis house?” 

Tom glanced up with a surprised expression, and 
asked: 

“What gave you such an idea?” 

“You done it. Gwyne out to cle’r yo’ brain! 
In de fust place you ain’t got none to cle’r, en in de 
second place yo’ ornery eye tole on you. You’s de 
low-downest hound dat ever—but I done tole you 
dat befo’. Now den, dis is Friday. You kin fix it 
up wid dat man, en tell him you’s gwyne away to 
git de res’ o’ de money, en dat you’ll be back wid 
it nex’ Tuesday, or maybe Wednesday. You under¬ 
stand” 

Tom answered sullenly: 

“Yes.” 

“En when you gits de new bill o’ sale dat sells me 
to my own self, take en send it in de mail to Mr. 

162 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

Pudd’nhead Wilson, en write on de back dat he’s to 
keep it tell I come. You understand” 

‘‘Yes.” 

“Dat’s all den. Take yo’ umbreller, en put on 
yo’ hat.” 

“Why?” 

“Beca’se you’s gwyne to see me home to de 
wharf. You see dis knife? Fs toted it aroun’ 
sence de day I seed dat man en bought dese clo’es 
en it. If he ketch me, I’s gwyne to kill myself wid 
it. Now start along, en go sof’, en lead de way; 
en if you gives a sign in dis house, or if anybody 
comes up to you in de street, I’s gwyne to jam it 
right into you. Chambers, does you b’lieve me 
when I says dat?” 

“It’s no use to bother me with that question. I 
know your word’s good.” 

“Yes, it’s diff’rent from yo’n! Shet de light out 
en move along—here’s de key.” 

They were not followed. Tom trembled every 
time a late straggler brushed by them on the street, 
and half expected to feel the cold steel in his back. 
Roxy was right at his heels and always in reach. 
After tramping a mile they reached a wide vacancy 
on the deserted wharves, and in this dark and rainy 
desert they parted. 

As Tom trudged home his mind was full of dreary 
thoughts and wild plans; but at last he said to him¬ 
self, wearily: 

“There is but the one way out. I must follow 
her plan. But with a variation—I will not ask for the 
money and ruin myself; I will rob the oid skinflint.” 

163 


CHAPTER XIX 


Few things are harder to put up with than the annoyance of a 
good example.— Pudd’nhead Wilson's Calendar. 

It were not best that we should all think alike; it is difference 
of opinion that makes horse-races. 

— Pudd'nhead Wilson's Calendar . 



AWSON’S LANDING was comfortably finish- 


I J ing its season of dull repose and waiting pa¬ 
tiently for the duel. Count Luigi was waiting, too; 
but not patiently, rumor said. Sunday came, and 
Luigi insisted on having his challenge conveyed. 
Wilson carried it. Judge Driscoll declined to fight 
with an assassin—“that is,” he added significantly, 
“in the field of honor.” 

Elsewhere, of course, he would be ready. Wilson 
tried to convince him that if he had been present 
himself when Angelo told about the homicide com¬ 
mitted by Luigi, he would not have considered the 
act discreditable to Luigi; but the obstinate old man 
was not to be moved. 

Wilson went back to his principal and reported 
the failure of his mission. Luigi was incensed, and 
asked how it could be that the old gentleman, who 
was by no means dull-witted, held his trifling 
nephew’s evidence and inferences to be of more value 
than Wilson’s. But Wilson laughed, and said: 


164 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

44 That is quite simple; that is easily explicable. 
I am not his doll—his baby—his infatuation: his 
nephew is. The Judge and his late wife never had 
any children. The Judge and his wife were past 
middle age when this treasure fell into their lap. 
One must make allowances for a parental instinct 
that has been starving for twenty-five or thirty years. 
It is famished, it is crazed with hunger by that time, 
and will be entirely satisfied with anything that 
comes nandy; its taste is atrophied, it can’t tell mud- 
cat from shad. A devil bom to a young couple is 
measurably recognizable by them as a devil before 
long, but a devil adopted by an old couple is an 
angel to them, and remains so, through thick and 
thin. Tom is this old man’s angel; he is infatuated 
with him. Tom can persuade him into things which 
other people can’t—not all things; I don’t mean that, 
but a good many—particularly one class of things: 
the things that create or abolish personal partialities 
or prejudices in the old man’s mind. The old man 
liked both of you. Tom conceived a hatred for 
you. That was enough; it turned the old man 
around at once. The oldest and strongest friend¬ 
ship must go to the ground when one of these late- 
adopted darlings throws a brick at it.” 

“It’s a curious philosophy,” said Luigi. 

“It ain’t a philosophy at all—it’s a fact. And 
there is something pathetic and beautiful about it, 
too. I think there is nothing more pathetic than to 
see one of these poor old childless couples taking a 
menagerie of yelping little worthless dogs to their 
hearts; and then adding some cursing and squawk- 
165 


MARK TWAIN 


ing parrots and a jackass-voiced macaw; and next 
a couple of hundred screeching song-birds, and 
presently some fetid guinea-pigs and rabbits, and a 
howling colony of cats. It is all a groping and igno¬ 
rant effort to construct out of base metal and brass 
filings, so to speak, something to take the place of 
that golden treasure denied them by Nature, a child. 
But this is a digression. The unwritten law of this 
region requires you to kill Judge Driscoll on sight, 
and he and the community will expect that attention 
at your hands—though of course your own death 
by his bullet will answer every purpose. Look out 
for him! Are you heeled—that is, fixed?” 

“Yes; he shall have his opportunity. If he 
attacks me I will respond.” 

As Wilson was leaving, he said: 

“The Judge is still a little used up by his carm 
paign work, and will not get out for a day or so; 
but when he does get out, you want to be on the 
alert.” 

About eleven at night the twins went out for 
exercise, and started on a long stroll in the veiled 
moonlight. 

Tom Driscoll had landed at Hackett’s Store, two 
miles below Dawson's, just about half an hour 
earlier, the only passenger for that lonely spot, and 
had walked up the shore road and entered Judge 
Driscoll’s house without having encountered any 
one either on the road or under the roof. 

He pulled down his window-blinds and lighted 
his candle. He laid off his coat and hat and began 
his preparations. He unlocked his trunk and got 
166 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

his suit of girl’s clothes out from under the male 
attire in it, and laid it by. Then he blacked his 
face with burnt cork and put the cork in his pocket. 
His plan was, to slip down to his uncle’s private 
sitting-room below, pass into the bedroom, steal the 
safe-key from the old gentleman’s clothes, and then 
go back and rob the safe. He took up his candle to 
start. His courage and confidence were high, up to 
this point, but both began to waver a little, now. 
Suppose he should make a noise, by some accident, 
and get caught—say, in the act of opening the 
safe? Perhaps it would be well to go armed. He 
took the Indian knife from its hiding-place, and felt 
a pleasant return of his wandering courage. He 
slipped stealthily down the narrow stair, his hair 
rising and his pulses halting at the slightest creak. 
When he was half-way down, he was disturbed to 
perceive that the landing below was touched by a 
faint glow of light. What could that mean? Was 
his uncle still up? No, that was not likely; he 
must have left his night taper there when he went 
to bed. Tom crept on down, pausing at every step 
to listen. He found the door standing open, and 
glanced in. What he saw pleased him beyond 
measure. His uncle was asleep on the sofa; on a 
small table at the head of the sofa a lamp was burn¬ 
ing low, and by it stood the old man’s small tin cash- 
box, closed. Near the box was a pile of bank-notes 
and a piece of paper covered with figures in pencil. 
The safe-door was not open. Evidently the sleeper 
had wearied himself with work upon his finances, 
and was taking a rest. 


167 


MARK TWAIN 

Tom set his candle on the stairs, and began to 
make his way toward the pile of notes, stooping low 
as he went. When he was passing his uncle, the 
old man stirred in his sleep, and Tom stopped 
instantly—stopped, and softly drew the knife from 
its sheath, with his heart thumping, and his eyes 
fastened upon his benefactor’s face. After a mo¬ 
ment or two he ventured forward again—one step 
—reached for his prize and seized it, dropping the 
knife-sheath. Then he felt the old man’s strong grip 
upon him, and a wild cry of “Help! help!” rang 
in his ear. Without hesitation he drove the knife 
home—and was free. Some of the notes escaped 
from his left hand and fell in the blood on the floor. 
He dropped the knife and snatched them up and 
started to fly; transferred them to his left hand, 
and seized the knife again, in his fright and con¬ 
fusion, but remembered himself and flung it from 
him, as being a dangerous witness to carry away 
with him. 

He jumped for the stair-foot, and closed the door 
behind him; and as he snatched his candle and fled 
upward, the stillness of the night was broken by the 
sound of urgent footsteps approaching the house. 
In another moment he was in his room and the twins 
were standing aghast over the body of the murdered 
man! 

Tom put on his coat, buttoned his hat under it, 
threw on his suit of girl’s clothes, dropped the veil, 
blew out his light, locked the room door by which 
he had just entered, taking the key, passed through 
his other door into the back hall, locked that door 
168 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

and kept the key, then worked his way along in the 
dark and descended the back stairs. He was not 
expecting to meet anybody, for all interest was 
centered in the other part of the house, now; his 
calculation proved correct. By the time he was 
passing through the back yard, Mrs. Pratt, her 
servants, and a dozen half-dressed neighbors had 
joined the twins and the dead, and accessions were 
still arriving at the front door. 

As Tom, quaking as with a palsy, passed out at the 
gate, three women came flying from the house on the 
opposite side of the lane. They rushed by him and 
in at the gate, asking him what the trouble was 
there, but not waiting for an answer. Tom said to 
himself, “Those old maids waited to dress—they 
did the same thing the night Stevens’ house burned 
down next door.” In a few minutes he was in the 
haunted house. He lighted a candle and took off 
his girl clothes. There was blood on him all down 
his left side, and his right hand was red with the 
stains of the blood-stained notes which he had 
crushed in it; but otherwise he was free from this 
sort of evidence. He cleansed his hand on the 
straw, and cleaned most of the smut from his face. 
Then he burned his male and female attire to ashes, 
scattered the ashes, and put on a disguise proper for 
a tramp. He blew out his light, went below, and was 
soon loafing down the river road with the intent to 
borrow and use one of Roxy’s devices. He found a 
canoe and paddled off down-stream, setting the canoe 
adrift as dawn approached, and making his way by 
land to the next village, where he kept out of sight 
12 169 


MARK TWAIN 


till a transient steamer came along, and then took 
deck-passage for St. Louis. He was ill at ease until 
Dawson’s Landing was behind him; then he said to 
himself, “All the detectives on earth couldn’t trace 
me now; there’s not a vestige of a clue left in the 
world; that homicide will take its place with the 
permanent mysteries, and people won’t get done 
trying to guess out the secret of it for fifty years.” 

In St. Louis, next morning, he read this brief 
telegram in the papers—dated at Dawson’s Landing: 

Judge Driscoll, an old and respected citizen, was assassinated 
here about midnight by a profligate Italian nobleman or barber 
on account of a quarrel growing out of the recent election. The 
assassin will probably be lynched. 

“One of the twins!” soliloquized Tom. “How 
lucky! It is the knife that has done him this grace. 
We never know when fortune is trying to favor us. 
I actually cursed Pudd’nhead Wilson in my heart 
for putting it out of my power to sell that knife. I 
take it back, now.” 

Tom was now rich and independent. He arranged 
with the planter, and mailed to Wilson the new bill 
of sale which sold Roxana to herself; then he tele^ 
graphed his Aunt Pratt: 

Have seen the awful news in the papers and am almost pros¬ 
trated with grief. Shall start by packet to-day. Try to bear 
up till I come. 

When Wilson reached the house of mourning and 
had gathered such details as Mrs. Pratt and the rest 
of the crowd could tell him, he took command as 
mayor, and gave orders that nothing should be 
170 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

touched, but everything left as it was until Justice 
Robinson should arrive and take the proper measures 
as coroner. He cleared everybody out of the room 
but the twins and himself. The sheriff soon arrived 
and took the twins away to jail. Wilson told them 
to keep heart, and promised to do his best in their 
defense when the case should come to trial. Justice 
Robinson came presently, and with him Constable 
Blake. They examined the room thoroughly. They 
found the knife and the sheath. Wilson noticed 
that there were finger-prints on the knife-handle. 
That pleased him, for the twins had required the 
earliest comers to make a scrutiny of their hands and 
clothes, and neither these people nor Wilson himself 
had found any blood-stains upon them. Could there 
be a possibility that the twins had spoken the 
truth when they said they found the man dead 
when they ran into the house in answer to the cry 
for help? He thought of that mysterious girl at 
once. But this was not the sort of work for a girl 
to be engaged in. No matter; Tom Driscoll’s room 
must be examined. 

After the coroner’s jury had viewed the body and 
its surroundings, Wilson suggested a search up-stairs, 
and he went along. The jury forced an entrance to 
Tom’s room, but found nothing, of course. 

The coroner’s jury found that the homicide was 
committed by Luigi, and that Angelo was accessory 
to it. 

The town was bitter against the unfortunates, and 
for the first few days after the murder they were in 
constant danger of being lynched. The grand jury 

m 


MARK TWAIN 


presently indicted Luigi for murder in the first 
degree, and Angelo as accessory before the fact. 
The twins were transferred from the city jail to the 
county prison to await trial. 

Wilson examined the finger-marks on the knife- 
handle and said to himself, “ Neither of the twins 
made those marks.” Then manifestly there was 
another person concerned, either in his own interest 
or as hired assassin. 

But who could it be? That, he must try to find 
out. The safe was not open, the cash-box was 
closed, and had three thousand dollars in it. Then 
robbery was not the motive, and revenge was. 
Where had the murdered man an enemy except 
Luigi? There was but that one person in the world 
with a deep grudge against him. 

The mysterious girl! The girl was a great trial to 
Wilson. If the motive had been robbery, the girl 
might answer; but there wasn’t any girl that would 
want to take this old man’s life for revenge. He 
had no quarrels with girls; he was a gentleman. 

Wilson had perfect tracings of the finger-marks of 
the knife-handle; and among his glass records he 
had a great array of the finger-prints of women and 
girls, collected during the last fifteen or eighteen 
years; but he scanned them in vain, they successfully 
withstood every test; among them were no duplicates 
of the prints on the knife. 

The presence of the knife on the stage of the 
murder was a worrying circumstance for Wilson. 
A week previously he had as good as admitted to 
himself that he believed Luigi had possessed such a 
172 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

knife, and that he still possessed it notwithstanding 
his pretense that it had been stolen. And now here 
was the knife, and with it the twins. Half the town 
had said the twins were humbugging when they 
claimed that they had lost their knife, and now these 
people were joyful, and said, “I told you so!” 

- If their finger-prints had been on the handle— 
but it was useless to bother any further about that; 
the finger-prints on the handle were not theirs—that 
he knew perfectly. 

Wilson refused to suspect Tom; for first, Tom 
couldn’t murder anybody—he hadn’t character 
enough; secondly, if he could murder a person he 
wouldn’t select his doting benefactor and nearest 
relative; thirdly, self-interest was in the way; for 
while the uncle lived, Tom was sure of a free support 
and a chance to get the destroyed will revived again, 
but with the uncle gone, that chance was gone, too. 
It was true the will had really been revived, as was 
now discovered, but Tom could not have been aware 
of it, or he would have spoken of it, in his native 
talky, unsecretive way. Finally, Tom was in St. 
Louis when the murder was done, and got the news 
out of the morning journals, as was shown by his 
telegram to his aunt. These speculations were unem¬ 
phasized sensations rather than articulated thoughts, 
for Wilson would have laughed at the idea of seri¬ 
ously connecting Tom with the murder. 

Wilson regarded the case of the twins as des¬ 
perate—in fact, about hopeless. For he argued that 
if a confederate was not found, an enlightened 
Missouri jury would hang them, sure; if a confederate 
i73 


MARK TWAIN 


was found, that would not improve the matter, but 
simply furnish one more person for the sheriff to 
hang. Nothing could save the twins but the dis¬ 
covery of a person who did the murder on his sole 
personal account—an undertaking which had all the 
aspect of the impossible. Still, the person who made 
the finger-prints must be sought. The twins might 
.have no case with him, but they certainly would have 
none without him. 

So Wilson mooned around, thinking, thinking, 
guessing, guessing, day and night, and arriving 
nowhere. Whenever he ran across a girl or a woman 
he was not acquainted with, he got her finger-prints, 
on one pretext or another; and they always cost 
him a sigh when he got home, for they never tallied 
with the finger-marks on the knife-handle. 

As to the mysterious girl, Tom swore he knew no 
such girl, and did not remember ever seeing a girl 
wearing a dress like the one described by Wilson. 
He admitted that he did not always lock his room, 
and that sometimes the servants forgot to lock the 
house doors; still, in his opinion the girl must have 
made but few visits or she would have been dis¬ 
covered. When Wilson tried to connect her with 
the stealing-raid, and thought she might have been 
the old woman’s confederate, if not the very thief 
herself disguised as an old woman, Tom seemed 
struck, and also much interested, and said he would 
keep a sharp eye out for this person or persons, 
although he was afraid that she or they would be too 
smart to venture again into a town where everybody 
would now be on the watch for a good while to come. 

174 i 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 


Everybody was pitying Tom, he looked so quiet 
and sorrowful, and seemed to feel his great loss so 
deeply. He was playing a part, but it was not all a 
part. The picture of his alleged uncle, as he had 
last seen him, was before him in the dark pretty 
frequently, when he was awake, and called again in 
his dreams, when he was asleep. He wouldn’t go 
into the room where the tragedy had happened. 
This charmed the doting Mrs. Pratt, who realized 
now, “as she had never done before,” she said, 
what a sensitive and delicate nature her darling had* 
and how he adored his poor uncle. 


CHAPTER XX 


Even the clearest and most perfect circumstantial evidence is 
likely to be at fault, after all, and therefore ought to be received 
with great caution. Take the case of any pencil, sharpened by 
any woman: if you have witnesses, you will find she did it with 
a knife; but if you take simply the aspect of the pencil, you will 
say she did it with her teeth.— Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar . 

T HE weeks dragged along, no friend visiting the 
jailed twins but their counsel and Aunt Patsy- 
Cooper, and the day of trial came at last—the 
heaviest day in Wilson’s life; for with all his tireless 
diligence he had discovered no sign or trace of the 
missing confederate. “Confederate” was the term 
he had long ago privately accepted for that person 
—not as being unquestionably the right term, but as 
being at least possibly the right one, though he was 
never able to understand why the twins did not 
vanish and escape, as the confederate had done, 
instead of remaining by the murdered man and get¬ 
ting caught there. 

The court-house was crowded, of course, and 
would remain so to the finish, for not only in the 
town itself, but in the country for miles around, the 
trial was the one topic of conversation among the 
people. Mrs. Pratt, in deep mourning, and Tom 
with a weed on his hat, had seats near Pembroke 
Howard, the public prosecutor, and back of them 
176 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

sat a great array of friends of the family. The twins 
had but one friend present to keep their counsel in 
countenance, their poor old sorrowing landlady. She 
sat near Wilson, and looked her friendliest. In the 
“nigger comer” sat Chambers; also Roxy, with 
good clothes on, and her bill of sale in her pocket. 
It was her most precious possession, and she never 
parted with it, day or night. Tom had allowed her 
thirty-five dollars a month ever since he came into 
his property, and had said that he and she ought to 
be grateful to the twins for making them rich; but 
had roused such a temper in her by this speech that 
he did not repeat the argument afterward. She 
said the old Judge had treated her child a thousand 
times better than he deserved, and had never done 
her an unkindness in his life; so she hated these 
outlandish devils for killing him, and shouldn’t ever 
sleep satisfied till she saw them hanged for it. She 
was here to watch the trial, now, and was going to 
lift up just one “hooraw” over it if the County 
Judge put her in jail a year for it. She gave her 
turbaned head a toss and said, “When dat verdic’ 
comes, I’s gwyne to lif’ dat roof , now, I tell you.” 

Pembroke Howard briefly sketched the State’s 
case. He said he would show by a chain of circum¬ 
stantial evidence without break or fault in it any¬ 
where, that the principal prisoner at the bar com¬ 
mitted the murder; that the motive was partly re¬ 
venge, and partly a desire to take his own life out 
of jeopardy, and that his brother, by his presence, 
was a consenting accessory to the crime; a crime 
which was the basest known to the calendar of human 
177 


MARK TWAIN 


misdeeds—assassination; that it was conceived by 
the blackest of hearts and consummated by the 
cowardliest of hands; a crime which had broken a 
loving sister’s heart, blighted the happiness of a 
young nephew who was as dear as a son, brought 
inconsolable grief to many friends, and sorrow and 
loss to the whole community. The utmost penalty 
of the outraged law would be exacted, and upon the 
accused, now present at the bar, that penalty would 
unquestionably be executed. He would reserve 
further remark until his closing speech. 

He was strongly moved, and so also was the 
whole house; Mrs. Pratt and several other women 
were weeping when he sat down, and many an eye 
that was full of hate was riveted upon the unhappy 
prisoners. 

Witness after witness was called by the State, and 
questioned at length; but the cross-questioning was 
brief. Wilson knew they could furnish nothing 
valuable for his side. People were sorry for Pudd’n- 
head; his budding career would get hurt by this trial. 

Several witnesses swore they heard Judge Driscoll 
say in his public speech that the twins would be able 
to find their lost knife again when they needed it to 
assassinate somebody with. This was not news, but 
now it was seen to have been sorrowfully prophetic, 
and a profound sensation quivered through the 
hushed court-room when those dismal words were 
repeated. 

The public prosecutor rose and said that it was 
within his knowledge, through a conversation held 
with Judge Driscoll on the last day of his life, that 
178 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

counsel for the defense had brought him a challenge 
from the person charged at this bar with murder; 
that he had refused to fight with a confessed as¬ 
sassin—“that is, on the field of honor,” but had 
added significantly, that he would be ready for him 
elsewhere. Presumably, the person here charged 
with murder was warned that he must kill or be killed 
the first time he should meet Judge Driscoll. If 
counsel for the defense chose to let the statement 
stand so, he would not call him to the witness-stand. 
Mr. Wilson said he would offer no denial. [Mur¬ 
murs in the house—“It is getting worse and worse 
for Wilson’s case.”] 

Mrs. Pratt testified that she heard no outcry, and 
did not know what woke her up, unless it was the 
sound of rapid footsteps approaching the front door.' 
She jumped up and ran out in the hall just as she 
was, and heard the footsteps flying up the front 
steps and then following behind her as she ran to the 
sitting-room. There she found the accused standing 
over her murdered brother. [Here she broke down 
and sobbed. Sensation in the court.] Resuming, 
she said the persons entering behind her were Mr. 
Rogers and Mr. Buckstone. 

Cross-examined by Wilson, she said the twins pro¬ 
claimed their innocence; declared that they had been 
taking a walk, and had hurried to the house in re¬ 
sponse to a cry for help which was so loud and strong 
that they had heard it at a considerable distance; 
that they begged her and the gentlemen just men¬ 
tioned to examine their hands and clothes—which 
was done, and no blood-stains found. 

179 


MARK TWAIN 

Confirmatory evidence followed from Rogers and 
Buckstone. 

The finding of the knife was verified, the advertise¬ 
ment minutely describing it and offering a reward for 
it was put in evidence, and its exact correspondence 
with that description proved. Then followed a few 
minor details, and the case for the State was closed. 

Wilson said that he had three witnesses, the Misses 
Clarkson, who would testify that they met a veiled 
young woman leaving Judge Driscoll’s premises by 
the back gate a few minutes after the cries for help 
were heard, and that their evidence, taken with cer¬ 
tain circumstantial evidence which he would call the 
court’s attention to, would in his opinion convince 
the court that there was still one person concerned 
in this crime who had not yet been found, and also 
that a stay of proceedings ought to be granted, in 
justice to his clients, until that person should be dis¬ 
covered. As it was late, he would ask leave to defer 
the examination of his three witnesses until the next 
morning. 

The crowd poured out of the place and went 
flocking away in excited groups and couples, talking 
the events of the session over with vivacity and con¬ 
suming interest, and everybody seemed to have had 
a satisfactory and enjoyable day except the accused, 
their counsel, and their old-lady friend. There was 
no cheer among these, and no substantial hope. 

In parting with the twins Aunt Patsy did attempt 
a good night with a gay pretense of hope and cheer 
in it, but broke down without finishing. 

Absolutely secure as Tom considered himself to be, 
1S0 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

the opening solemnities of the trial had nevertheless 
oppressed him with a vague uneasiness, his being a 
nature sensitive to even the smallest alarms; but 
from the moment that the poverty and weakness of 
Wilson’s case lay exposed to the court, he was com¬ 
fortable once more, even jubilant. He left the 
court-room sarcastically sorry for Wilson. “The 
Clarksons met an unknown woman in the back 
lane,” he said to himself —“that is his case! I'll give 
him a century to find her in—a couple of them if he 
likes. A woman who doesn’t exist any longer, and 
the clothes that gave her her sex burnt up and the 
ashes thrown away—oh, certainly, he’ll find her 
easy enough!” This reflection set him to admiring, 
for the hundredth time, the shrewd ingenuities by 
which he had insured himself against detection— 
more, against even suspicion. 

“Nearly always in cases like this there is some 
little detail or other overlooked, some wee little track 
or trace left behind, and detection follows; but here 
there’s not even the faintest suggestion of a trace 
left. No more than a bird leaves when it flies 
through the air—yes, through the night, you may 
say. The man that can track a bird through the air 
in the dark and find that bird is the man to track me 
out and find the Judge’s assassin—no other need 
apply. And that is the job that has been laid out 
for poor Pudd’nhead Wilson, of all people in the 
world! Lord, it will be pathetically funny to see him 
grubbing and groping after that woman that don’t 
exist, and the right person sitting under his very 
nose all the time!” The more he thought the 
181 


MARK TWAIN 


situation over, the more the humor of it struck him. 
Finally he said, ‘‘I’ll never let him hear the last of 
that woman. Every time I catch him in company, 
to his dying day, Ill ask him in the guileless affec¬ 
tionate way that used to gravel him so when I 
inquired how his unborn law business was coming 
along, 'Got on her track yet—hey, Pudd’nhead?’” 
He wanted to laugh, but that would not have 
answered; there were people about, and he was 
mourning for his uncle. He made up his mind that 
it would be good entertainment to look in on Wilson 
that night and watch him worry over his barren 
law case and goad him with an exasperating word or 
two of sympathy and commiseration now and then. 

Wilson wanted no supper, he had no appetite. 
He got out all the finger-prints of girls and women 
in his collection of records and pored gloomily over 
them an hour or more, trying to convince himself 
that that troublesome girl’s marks were there some¬ 
where and had been overlooked. But it was not so. 
He drew back his chair, clasped his hands over his 
head, and gave himself up to dull and arid musings. 

Tom Driscoll dropped in, an hour after dark, and 
said with a pleasant laugh as he took a seat: 

"Hello, we’ve gone back to the amusements of 
our days of neglect and obscurity for consolation, 
have we?” and he took up one of the glass strips 
and held it against the light to inspect it. "Come, 
cheer up, old man; there’s no use in losing your 
grip and going back to this child’s-play merely be¬ 
cause this big sunspot is drifting across your shiny 
new disk, It 'll pass, and you’ll be all right again,” , 
18? 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

—and he laid the glass down. “Did you think 
you could win always?” 

“Oh, no,” said Wilson, with a sigh, “I didn’t 
expect that, but I can’t believe Luigi killed your 
uncle, and I feel very sorry for him. It makes me 
blue. And you would feel as I do, Tom, if you 
Vere not prejudiced against those young fellows.” 

“I don’t know about that,” and Tom’s coun¬ 
tenance darkened, for his memory reverted to his 
kicking; “I owe them no good will, considering 
the brunette one’s treatment of me that night. 
Prejudice or no prejudice, Pudd’nhead, I don’t like 
them, and when they get their deserts you’re not 
going to find me sitting on the mourner’s bench.” 

He took up another strip of glass, and exclaimed: 

“Why, here’s old Roxy’s label! Are you going 
to ornament the royal palaces with nigger paw- 
marks, too? By the date here, I was seven months 
old when this was done, and she was nursing me and 
her little nigger cub. There’s a line straight across 
her thumb-print. How comes that?” and Tom held 
out the piece of glass to Wilson. 

“That is common,” said the bored man, wearily. 
“Scar of a cut or a scratch, usually”—and he took 
the strip of glass indifferently, and raised it toward 
the lamp. 

All the blood sunk suddenly out of his face; his 
hand quaked, and he gazed at the polished surface 
before him with the glassy stare of a corpse. 

“Great Heavens, what’s the matter with you, 
Wilson? Are you going to faint?” 

Tom sprang for a glass of water and offered 
183 


MARK TWAIN 

it, but Wilson shrank shuddering from him and 
said: 

“No, no!—take it away!” His breast was rising 
and falling, and he moved his head about in a dull 
and wandering way, like a person who has been 
stunned. Presently he said, “I shall feel better 
when I get to bed; I have been overwrought to-day; 
yes, and overworked for many days.” 

“Then I’ll leave you and let you get to your rest. 
Good night, old man.” But as Tom went out he 
couldn’t deny himself a small parting gibe: “Don’t 
take it so hard; a body can’t win every time; you’ll 
hang somebody yet.” 

Wilson muttered to himself, “It is no lie to say I 
am sorry I have to begin with you, miserable dog 
though you are!” 

He braced himself up with a glass of cold whisky, 
and went to work again. He did not compare the 
new finger-marks unintentionally left by Tom a few 
minutes before on Roxy’s glass with the tracings of 
the marks left on the knife-handle, there being no 
need of that (for his trained eye), but busied him¬ 
self with another matter, muttering from time to 
time, “Idiot that I was!—nothing but a girl would 
do me—a man in girl’s clothes never occurred to 
me.” First, he hunted out the plate containing the 
finger-prints made by Tom when he was twelve 
years old, and laid it by itself; then he brought forth 
the marks made by Tom’s baby fingers when he was 
a suckling of seven months, and placed these two 
plates with the one containing this subject’s newly 
(and unconsciously) made record. 

184 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 


“Now the series is complete,” he said with satis¬ 
faction, and sat down to inspect these things and 
enjoy them. 

But his enjoyment was brief. He stared a con¬ 
siderable time at the three strips, and seemed 
stupefied with astonishment. At last he put them 
down and said, “I can’t make it out at all—hang 
it, the baby’s don’t tally with the others!” 

He walked the floor for half an hour puzzling over 
his enigma, then he hunted out two other glass 
plates. 

He sat down and puzzled over these things a good 
while, but kept muttering, “It’s no use; I can’t 
understand it. They don’t tally right, and yet I’ll 
swear the names and dates are right, and so of course 
they ought to tally. I never labeled one of these 
things carelessly in my life. There is a most ex¬ 
traordinary mystery here.” 

He was tired out, now, and his brains were begin¬ 
ning to clog. He said he would sleep himself fresh, 
and then see what he could do with this riddle. He 
slept through a troubled and unrestful hour, then 
unconsciousness began to shred away, and presently 
he rose drowsily to a sitting posture. “Now what 
was that dream?” he said, trying to recall it; “what 
was that dream?—it seemed to unravel that puz—” 

He landed in the middle of the floor at a bound, 
without finishing the sentence, and ran and turned 
up his lights and seized his “records.” He took a 
single swift glance at them and cried out: 

“It’s so! Heavens, what a revelation! And for 
twenty-three years no man has ever suspected it!” 

13 185 


CHAPTER XXI 


He is useless on top of the ground; he ought to be under it, 
inspiring the cabbages.— Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar . 

April i . This is the day upon which we are reminded of 
what we are on the other three hundred and sixty-four. 

— Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar. 



ILSON put on enough clothes for business 


vv purposes and went to work under a high 
pressure of steam. He was awake all over. All 
sense of weariness had been swept away by the 
invigorating refreshment of the great and hopeful 
discovery which he had made. He made fine and 
accurate reproductions of a number of his “records,’' 
and then enlarged them on a scale of ten to one 
with his pantograph. He did these pantograph en¬ 
largements on sheets of white cardboard, and made 
each individual line of the bewildering maze of 
whorls or curves or loops which constituted the 
“pattern” of a “record” stand out bold and black 
by reinforcing it with ink. To the untrained eye the 
collection of delicate originals made by the human 
finger on the glass plates looked about alike; but 
when enlarged ten times they resembled the mark¬ 
ings of a block of wood that has been sawed across 
the grain, and the dullest eye could detect at a 
glance, and at a distance of many feet, that no two 


186 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

of the patterns were alike. When Wilson had at 
last finished his tedious and difficult work, he ar¬ 
ranged its results according to a plan in which a pro¬ 
gressive order and sequence was a principal feature; 
then he added to the batch several pantograph en¬ 
largements which he had made from time to time in 
bygone years. 

The night was spent and the day well advanced, 
now. By the time he had snatched a trifle of break¬ 
fast it was nine o’clock, and the court was ready to 
begin its sitting. He was in his place twelve min¬ 
utes later with his “records.” 

Tom Driscoll caught a slight glimpse of the records, 
and nudged his nearest friend and said, with a wink, 
“ Pudd’nhead’s got a rare eye to business—thinks that 
as long as he can’t win his case it’s at least a noble 
good chance to advertise his palace-window decora¬ 
tions without any expense.” Wilson was informed 
that his witnesses had been delayed, but would ar¬ 
rive presently; but he rose and said he should prob¬ 
ably not have occasion to make use of their testi¬ 
mony. [An amused murmur ran through the room 
—“It’s a clean backdown! he gives up without hit¬ 
ting a lick!”] Wilson continued—“I have other 
testimony—and better. [This compelled interest, 
and evoked murmurs of surprise that had a de¬ 
tectable ingredient of disappointment in them.] If 
I seem to be springing this evidence upon the court, 
I offer as my justification for this, that I did not dis¬ 
cover its existence until late last night, and have 
been engaged in examining and classifying it ever 
since, until half an hour ago. I shall offer it pres- 
x8 7 


MARK TWAIN 

ently; but first I wish to say a few preliminary 
words. 

“May it please the court, the claim given the 
front place, the claim most persistently urged, the 
claim most strenuously and I may even say aggres¬ 
sively and defiantly insisted upon by the prosecution, 
is this—that the person whose hand left the blood¬ 
stained finger-prints upon the handle of the Indian 
knife is the person who committed the murder.” 
Wilson paused, during several moments, to give im¬ 
pressiveness to what he was about to say, and then 
added tranquilly, 11 We grant that claim .” 

It was an electrical surprise. No one was pre- ; 
pared for such an admission. A buzz of astonish¬ 
ment rose on all sides, and people were heard to 
intimate that the overworked lawyer had lost his 
mind. Even the veteran judge, accustomed as he 
was to legal ambushes and masked batteries in 
criminal procedure, was not sure that his ears were 
not deceiving him, and asked counsel what it was he 
had said. Howard’s impassive face betrayed no 
sign, but his attitude and bearing lost something of 
their careless confidence for a moment. Wilson 
resumed: 

“We not only grant that claim, but we welcome 
it and strongly indorse it. Leaving that matter for 
the present, we will now proceed to consider other 
points in the case which we propose to establish by 
evidence, and shall include that one in the chain in 
its proper place.” 

He had made up his mind to try a few hardy 
guesses, in mapping out his theory of the origin and 
188 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

motive of the murder—guesses designed to fill up 
gaps in it—guesses which could help if they hit, 
and would probably do no harm if they didn’t. 

"To my mind, certain circumstances of the case 
before the court seem to suggest a motive for the 
homicide quite different from the one insisted on by 
the State. It is my conviction that the motive was 
not revenge, but robbery. It has been urged that 
the presence of the accused brothers in that fatal 
room, just after notification that one of them must 
take the life of Judge Driscoll or lose his own the 
moment the parties should meet, clearly signifies 
that the natural instinct of self-preservation moved 
my clients to go there secretly and save Count Luigi 
by destroying his adversary. 

"Then why did they stay there, after the deed 
was done? Mrs. Pratt had time, although she did 
not hear the cry for help, but woke up some mo¬ 
ments later, to run to that room—and there she 
found these men standing and making no effort to 
escape. If they were guilty, they ought to have 
been running out of the house at the same time that 
she was running to that room. If they had had 
such a strong instinct toward self-preservation as to 
move them to Kill that unarmed man, what had 
become of it now, when it should have been more 
alert than ever? Would any of us have remained 
there? Let us not slander our intelligence to that 
degree. 

"Much stress has been laid upon the fact that the 
accused offered a very large reward for the knife 
with which this murder was done; that no thief 
189 


MARK TWAIN 


came forward to claim that extraordinary reward; 
that the latter fact was good circumstantial evidence 
that the claim that the knife had been stolen was a 
vanity and a fraud; that these details taken in con¬ 
nection with the memorable and apparently pro¬ 
phetic speech of the deceased concerning that knife, 
and the final discovery of that very knife in the fatal 
room where no living person was found present with 
the slaughtered man but the owner of the knife and 
his brother, form an indestructible chain of evidence 
which fixes the crime upon those unfortunate 
strangers. 

'‘But I shall presently ask to be sworn, and shall 
testify that there was a large reward offered for the 
thief f also; that it was offered secretly and not ad¬ 
vertised ; that this fact was indiscreetly mentioned— 
or at least tacitly admitted—in what was supposed 
to be safe circumstances, but may not have been. 
The thief may have been present himself. [Tom 
Driscoll had been looking at the speaker, but dropped 
his eyes at this point.] In that case he would retain 
the knife in his possession, not daring to offer it for 
sale, or for pledge in a pawnshop. [There was a 
nodding of heads among the audience by way of 
admission that this was not a bad stroke.] I shall 
prove to the satisfaction of the jury that there was 
a person in Judge Driscoll’s room several minutes 
before the accused entered it. [This produced a 
strong sensation; the last drowsy-head in the court¬ 
room roused up now, and made preparation to listen.] 
If it shall seem necessary, I will prove by the Misses 
Clarkson that they met a veiled person—ostensibly 

IQO 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

a woman—coming out of the back gate a few min¬ 
utes after the cry for help was heard. This person 
was not a woman, but a man dressed in woman’s 
clothes.” Another sensation. Wilson had his eye 
on Tom when he hazarded this guess, to see what 
effect it would produce. He was satisfied with the 
result, and said to himself, “It was a success—he’s 
hit!” 

“The object of that person in that house was 
robbery, not murder. It is true that the safe was 
not open, but there was an ordinary tin cash-box on 
the table, with three thousand dollars in it. It is 
easily supposable that the thief was concealed in the 
house; that he knew of this box, and of its owner’s 
habit of counting its contents and arranging his 
accounts at night—if he had that habit, which I do 
not assert, of course;—that he tried to take the box 
while its owner slept, but made a noise and was 
seized, and had to use the knife to save himself from 
capture; and that he fled without his booty because 
he heard help coming. 

“I have now done with my theory, and will 
proceed to the evidences by which I propose to try 
to prove its soundness.” Wilson took up several of 
his strips of glass. When the audience recognized 
these familiar mementoes of Pudd’nhead’s old-time 
childish “puttering” and folly, the tense and funereal 
interest vanished out of their faces, and the house 
burst into volleys of relieving and refreshing laughter, 
and Tom chirked and joined in the fun himself; 
but Wilson was apparently not disturbed. He ar¬ 
ranged his records on the table before him, and said: 


MARK TWAIN 


“I beg the indulgence of the court while I make 
a few remarks in explanation of some evidence which 
I am about to introduce, and which I shall presently 
ask to be allowed to verify under oath on the witness- 
stand. Every human being carries with him from 
his cradle to his grave certain physical marks which 
do not change their character, and by which he 
can always be identified—and that without shade 
of doubt or question. These marks are his signature, 
his physiological autograph, so to speak, and this 
autograph cannot be counterfeited, nor can he dis¬ 
guise it or hide it away, nor can it become illegible 
by the wear and mutations of time. This signature 
is not his face—age can change that beyond recog¬ 
nition; it is not his hair, for that can fall out; it is 
not his height, for duplicates of that exist; it is not 
his form, for duplicates of that exist also, whereas 
this signature is each man’s very own—there is no 
duplicate of it among the swarming populations 
of the globe! [The audience were interested once 
more.] 

“This autograph consists of the delicate lines or 
corrugations with which Nature marks the insides of 
the hands and the soles of the feet. If you will look 
at the balls of your fingers — you that have very 
sharp eyesight—you will observe that these dainty 
curving lines lie close together, like those that indi¬ 
cate the borders of oceans in maps, and that they 
form various clearly defined patterns, such as arches, 
circles, long curves, whorls, etc., and that these 
patterns differ on the different fingers. [Every man 
in the room had his hand up to the light, now, and 

IQ2 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

his head canted to one side, and was minutely 
scrutinizing the balls of his fingers; there were 
whispered ejaculations of “Why, it’s so—I never 
noticed that before!”] The patterns on the right 
hand are not the same as those on the left. [Ejacu¬ 
lations of “Why, that's so, too!”] Taken finger 
for finger, your patterns differ from your neigh¬ 
bor’s. [Comparisons were made all over the house 
—even the judge and jury were absorbed in this 
curious work.] The patterns of a twin’s right hand 
are not the same as those on his left. One twin’s 
patterns are never the same as his fellow-twin’s pat¬ 
terns—the jury will find that the patterns upon the 
finger-balls of the accused follow this rule. [An 
examination of the twins’ hands was begun at once.] 
You have often heard of twins who were so exactly 
alike that when dressed alike their own parents could 
not tell them apart. Yet there was never a twin 
bom into this world that did not carry from birth to 
death a sure identifier in this mysterious and marvel¬ 
ous natal autograph. That once known to you, his 
fellow-twin could never personate him and deceive 
you.” 

Wilson stopped and stood silent. Inattention 
dies a quick and sure death when a speaker does 
that. The stillness gives warning that something is 
coming. All palms and finger-balls went down, 
now, all slouching forms straightened, all heads 
came up, all eyes were fastened upon Wilson’s face. 
He waited yet one, two, three moments, to let his 
pause complete and perfect its spell upon the house; 
then, when through the profound hush he could hear 
i93 


MARK TWAIN 


the ticking of the clock on the wall, he put out his 
hand and took the Indian knife by the blade and 
held it aloft where all could see the sinister spots 
upon its ivory handle; then he said, in a level and 
passionless voice: 

4 4 Upon this haft stands the assassin’s natal auto¬ 
graph, written in the blood of that helpless and un¬ 
offending old man who loved you. and whom you all 
loved. There is but one man in the whole earth 
whose hand can duplicate that crimson sign”—he 
paused and raised his eyes to the pendulum swinging 
back and forth—“and please God we will produce 
that man in this room before the clock strikes noon!” 

Stunned, distraught, unconscious of its own move¬ 
ment, the house half rose, as if expecting to see the 
murderer appear at the door, and a breeze of mut¬ 
tered ejaculations swept the place. “Order in the 
court!—sit down!” This from the sheriff. He was 
obeyed, and quiet reigned again. Wilson stole a 
glance at Tom, and said to himself, “He is flying 
signals of distress, now; even people who despise 
him are pitying him; they think this is a hard ordeal 
for a young fellow who has lost his benefactor by so 
cruel a stroke—and they are right.” He resumed 
his speech. 

“For more than twenty years I have amused my 
compulsory leisure with collecting these curious 
physical signatures in this town. At my house I 
have hundreds upon hundreds of them. Each and 
every one is labeled with name and date; not 
labeled the next day or even the next hour, but in 
the very minute that the impression was taken. 

J94 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

When I go upon the witness-stand I will repeat 
under oath the things which I am now saying. I 
have the finger-prints of the court, the sheriff, and 
every member of the jury. There is hardly a person 
in this room, white or black, whose natal signature I 
cannot produce, and not one of them can so disguise 
himself that I cannot pick him out from a multitude 
of his fellow-creatines and unerringly identify him 
by his hands. And if he and I should live to be a 
hundred I could still do it. [The interest of the 
audience was steadily deepening now.] 

‘ ‘ I have studied some of these signatures so much 
that I know them as well as the bank cashier knows 
the autograph of his oldest customer. While I turn 
my back now, I beg that several persons will be so 
good as to pass their fingers through their hair, and 
then press them upon one of the panes of the window 
near the jury, and that among them the accused may 
set their finger-marks. Also, I beg that these ex¬ 
perimenters^ or others, will set their finger-marks 
upon another pane, and add again the marks of the 
accused, but not placing them in the same order or 
relation to the other signatures as before—for, by 
one chance in a million, a person might happen 
upon the right marks by pure guesswork once , there¬ 
fore I wish to be tested twice.’* 

He turned his back, and the two panes were 
quickly covered with delicately lined oval spots, but 
visible only to such persons as could get a dark back¬ 
ground for them—the foliage of a tree, outside, for 
instance. Then, upon call, Wilson went to the 
window, made his examination, and said: 

*95 


MARK TWAIN 


“This is Count Luigi’s right hand; this one, three 
signatures below, is his left. Here is Count Angelo’s 
right; down here is his left. Now for the other 
pane: here and here are Count Luigi’s, here and 
here are his brother’s.” He faced about. “Am 
I right?” 

A deafening explosion of applause was the answer. 
The Bench said: 

“This certainly approaches the miraculous!” 

Wilson turned to the window again and remarked, 
pointing with his finger: 

“This is the signature of Mr. Justice Robinson 
[Applause.] This, of Constable Blake. [Applause.] 
This, of John Mason, juryman. [Applause.] This, 
of the sheriff. [Applause.] I cannot name the 
others, but I have them all at home, named and 
dated, and could identify them all by my finger¬ 
print records.” 

He moved to his place through a storm of applause 
—which the sheriff stopped, and also made the peo¬ 
ple sit down, for they were all standing and strug¬ 
gling to see, of course. Court, jury, sheriff, and ev¬ 
erybody had been too absorbed in observing Wilson’s 
performance to attend to the audience earlier. 

“Now, then,” said Wilson, “I have here the 
natal autographs of two children—thrown up to ten 
times the natural size by the pantograph, so that 
any one who can see at all can tell the markings 
apart at a glance. We will call the children A and 
B. Here are A’s finger-marks, taken at the age of 
five months. Here they are again, taken at seven 
months. [Tom started.] They are alike, you see. 

196 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 


Here are B's at five months, and also at seven 
months. They, too, exactly copy each other, but 
the patterns are quite different from A’s, you ob¬ 
serve. I shall refer to these again presently, but 
we will turn them face down, now. 

“Here, thrown up ten sizes, are the natal auto¬ 
graphs of the two persons who are here before you 
accused of murdering Judge Driscoll. I made these 
pantographic copies last night, and will so swear 
when I go upon the witness-stand. I ask the jury 
to compare them with the finger-marks of the ac¬ 
cused upon the window-panes, and tell the court if 
they are the same.” 

He passed a powerful magnifying-glass to the 
foreman. 

One juryman after another took the cardboard 
and the glass and made the comparison. Then the 
foreman said to the judge: 

“Your honor, we are all agreed that they are 
identical.” 

Wilson said to the foreman: 

“Please turn that cardboard face down, and take 
this one, and compare it searchingly by the mag¬ 
nifier, with the fatal signature upon the knife-handle, 
and report your finding to the court.” 

Again the jury made minute examinations, and 
again reported: 

“We find them to be exactly identical, }^our 
honor.” 

Wilson turned toward the counsel for the prosecu¬ 
tion, and there was a clearly recognizable note of 
warning in hinvoice /hen he said: 

^7 



MARK TWAIN 


1 * May it please the court, the State has claimed, 
strenuously and persistently, that the blood-stained 
finger-prints upon that knife-handle were left there 
by the assassin of Judge Driscoll. You have heard 
us grant that claim, and welcome it.” He turned to 
the jury: “Compare the finger-prints of the accused 
with the finger-prints left by the assassin—and report. ’ * 
The comparison began. As it proceeded, all 
movement and all sound ceased, and the deep silence 
of an absorbed and waiting suspense settled upon the 
house; and when at last the words came— 

“ They do not even resemble ,” a thunder-crash of 
applause followed and the house sprang to its feet, 
but was quickly repressed by official force and 
brought to order again. Tom was altering his posi¬ 
tion every few minutes, now, bu f none of his changes 
brought repose nor any small trifle of comfort. 
When the house’s attention was become fixed once 
more, Wilson said gravely, indicating the twins with 
a gesture: 

“These men are innocent—I have no further con¬ 
cern with them. [Another outbreak of applause 
began, but was promptly checked.] We will now 
proceed to find the guilty. [Tom’s eyes were 
starting from their sockets—yes, it was a cruel day 
for the bereaved youth, everybody thought.] We 
will return to the infant autographs of A and B. I 
will ask the jury to take these large pantograph fac¬ 
similes of A’s marked five months and seven months. 
Do they tally?” 

The foreman responded: 

Perfectly,” 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

“Now examine this pantograph, taken at eight 
months, and also marked A. Does it tally with the 
other two?” 

The surprised response was: 

“No—they differ widely /” 

“You are quite right. Now take these two panto¬ 
graphs of B’s autograph, marked five months and 
seven months. Do they tally with each other ?” 

“Yes—perfectly.” 

“Take this third pantograph marked B , eight 
months. Does it tally with B’s other two?” 

“By no means!” 

“Do you know how to account for those strange 
discrepancies? I will tell you. For a purpose un¬ 
known to us, but probably a selfish one, somebody 
changed those children in the cradle.” 

This produced a vast sensation, naturally; Roxana 
was astonished at this admirable guess, but not dis¬ 
turbed by it. To guess the exchange was one thing, 
to guess who did it quite another. Pudd’nhead 
Wilson could do wonderful things, no doubt, but he 
couldn’t do impossible ones. Safe? She was per¬ 
fectly safe. She smiled privately. 

“Between the ages of seven months and eight 
months tho.se children were changed in the cradle” 
—he made one of his effect-collecting pauses, and 
added—“and the person who did it is in this house!” 

Roxy’s pulses stood still! The house was thrilled 
as with an electric shock, and the people half rose as 
if to seek a glimpse of the person who had made 
that exchange. Tom was growing limp; the life 
seemed oozing out of him. Wilson resumed: 

199 


MARK TWAIN 

U A was put into B’s cradle in the nursery; B 
was transferred to the kitchen and became a negro 
and a slave [Sensation—confusion of angry ejacu¬ 
lations]—but within a quarter of an hour he will 
stand before you white and free! [Burst of ap¬ 
plause, checked by the officers.] From seven 
months onward until now, A has still been a usurper, 
and in my finger-record he bears B’s name. Here is 
his pantograph at the age of twelve. Compare it 
with the assassin’s signature upon the knife-handle. 
Do they tally?” 

The foreman answered: 

“To the minutest detail!” 

Wilson said, solemnly: 

“The murderer of your friend and mine—York 
Driscoll of the generous hand and the kindly spirit— 
sits in among you. Valet de Chambre, negro and slave 
—falsely called Thomas aBecket Driscoll—make upon 
the window the finger-prints that will hang you!” 

Tom turned his ashen face imploringly toward the 
speaker, made some impotent movement with his 
white lips, then slid limp and lifeless to the floor. 

Wilson broke the awed silence with the words: 

“There is no need. He has confessed.” 

Roxy flung herself upon her knees, covered her 
face with her hands, and out through her sobs the 
words struggled: 

“De Lord have mercy on me, po’ misable sinner 
dat I is!” 

The clock struck twelve. 

The court rose; the new prisoner, handcuffed, 
was removed. 


200 



















CONCLUSION 


It is often the case that the man who can’t tell a lie thinks 
he is the best judge of one.— Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar. 

October 12 , the Discovery. It was wonderful to find America, 
but it would have been more wonderful to miss it. 

— Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar. 



'HE town sat up all night to discuss the amazing 


A events of the day and swap guesses as to when 
Tom’s trial would begin. Troop after troop of 
citizens came to serenade Wilson, and require a 
speech, and shout themselves hoarse over every 
sentence that fell from his lips—for all his sentences 
were golden, now, all were marvelous. His long 
fight against hard luck and prejudice was ended; he 
was a made man for good. 

And as each of these roaring gangs of enthusiasts 
marched away, some remorseful member of it was 
quite sure to raise his voice and say: 

“And this is the man the likes of us have called 
a pudd’nhead for more than twenty years. He has 
resigned from that position, friends.” 

“Yes, but it isn’t vacant—we’re elected.” 

The twins were heroes of romance, now, and with 
rehabilitated reputations. But they were weary of 
Western adventure, and straightway retired to Europe. 

14 201 


MARK TWAIN 


Roxy’s heart was broken. The young fellow 
upon whom she had inflicted twenty-three years of 
slavery continued the false heir’s pension of thirty- 
five dollars a month to her, but her hurts were too 
deep for money to heal; the spirit in her eye was 
quenched, her martial bearing departed with it, and 
the voice of her laughter ceased in the land. In her 
church and its affairs she found her only solace. 

The real heir suddenly found himself rich and free, 
but in a most embarrassing situation. He could 
neither read nor write, and his speech was the basest 
dialect of the negro quarter. His gait, his attitudes, 
his gestures, his bearing, his laugh—all were vulgar 
and uncouth; his manners were the manners of a 
slave. Money and fine clothes could not mend these 
defects or cover them up; they only made them the 
more glaring and the more pathetic. The poor 
fellow could not endure the terrors of the white 
man’s parlor, and felt at home and at peace nowhere 
but in the kitchen. The family pew was a misery to 
him, yet he could nevermore enter into the solacing 
refuge of the “nigger gallery”—that was closed to 
him for good and all. But we cannot follow his 
curious fate further—that would be a long story. 

The false heir made a full confession and was 
sentenced to imprisonment for life. But now a 
complication came up. The Percy Driscoll estate 
was in such a crippled shape when its owner died 
that it could pay only sixty per cent, of its great 
indebtedness, and was settled at that rate. But the 
creditors came forward, now, and complained that 
inasmuch as through an error for which they were in 
202 


PUDD’NHEAD WILSON 

no way to blame the false heir was not inventoried at 
that time with the rest of the property, great wrong 
and loss had thereby been inflicted upon them. 
They rightly claimed that “Tom” was lawfully their 
property and had been so for eight years; that they 
had already lost sufficiently in being deprived of his 
services during that long period, and ought not to 
be required to add anything to that loss; that if he 
had been delivered up to them in the first place, they 
would have sold him and he could not have mur¬ 
dered Judge Driscoll; therefore it was not he that 
had really committed the murder, the guilt lay with 
the erroneous inventory. Everybody saw that there 
was reason in this. Everybody granted that if 
“Tom” were white and free it would be unquestion¬ 
ably right to punish him—it would be no loss to 
anybody; but to shut up a valuable slave for life— 
that was quite another matter. 

As soon as the Governor understood the case, he 
pardoned Tom at once, and the creditors sold him 
down the river. 





THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 


Copyright, 1894, by Olivia L. Clemens 
Printed in the United States of America 



THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 



MAN who is bom with the novel-writing gift 


has a troublesome time of it when he tries to 


build a novel. I know this from experience. He 
has no clear idea of his story; in fact he has no 
story. He merely has some people in his mind, and 
an incident or two, also a locality. He knows these 
people, he knows the selected locality, and he trusts 
that he can plunge those people into those incidents 
with interesting results. So he goes to work. To 
write a novel? No—that is a thought which comes 
later; in the beginning he is only proposing to tell a 
little tale; a very little tale; a six-page tale. But 
as it is a tale which he is not acquainted with, and 
can only find out what it is by listening as it goes 
along telling itself, it is more than apt to go on and 
on and on till it spreads itself into a book. I know 
about this, because it has happened to me so many 


times. 


And I have noticed another thing: that as the 
short tale grows into the long tale, the original in¬ 
tention (or motif) is apt to get abolished and find 
itself superseded by a quite different one. It was 
so in the case of a magazine sketch which I once 
started to write—a funny and fantastic sketch about 
a prince and a pauper; it presently assumed a grave 


MARK TWAIN 


cast of its own accord, and in that new shape spread 
itself out into a book. Much the same thing hap¬ 
pened with “Pudd’nhead Wilson.’* I had a suffi¬ 
ciently hard time with that tale, because it changed 
itself from a farce to a tragedy while I was going 
along with it—a most embarrassing circumstance. 
But what was a great deal worse was, that it was not 
one story, but two stories tangled together; and 
they obstructed and interrupted each other at every 
turn and created no end of confusion and annoyance. 
I could not offer the book for publication, for I was 
afraid it would unseat the reader’s reason. I did not 
know what was the matter with it, for I had not 
noticed, as yet, that it was two stories in one. It 
took me months to make that discovery. I carried 
the manuscript back and forth across the Atlantic 
two or three times, and read it and studied over it 
on shipboard; and at last I saw where the difficulty 
lay. I had no further trouble. I pulled one of the 
stories out by the roots, and left the other one—a 
kind of literary Caesarean operation. 

Would the reader care to know something about 
the story which I pulled out? He has been told 
many a time how the bom-and-trained novelist 
works. Won’t he let me round and complete his 
knowledge by telling him how the jack-leg does it? 

Originally the story was called “Those Extraor¬ 
dinary Twins.” I meant to make it very short. I 
had seen a picture of a youthful Italian “freak”— 
or “freaks”—which was—or which were—on ex¬ 
hibition in our cities—a combination consisting 
of two heads and four arms joined to a single body 
208 


#?•» 



l THOUGHT I WOULD WRITE A LITTLE STORY 






































































































* 




















































• 






















THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

and a single pair of legs—and I thought I would 
write an extravagantly fantastic little story with this 
freak of nature for hero—or heroes—a silly young 
miss for heroine, and two old ladies and two boys for 
the minor parts. I lavishly elaborated these people 
and their doings, of course. But the tale kept 
spreading along, and spreading along, and other peo¬ 
ple got to intruding themselves and taking up more 
and more room with their talk and their affairs. 
Among them came a stranger named Pudd’nhead 
Wilson, and a woman named Roxana; and presently 
the doings of these two pushed up into prominence 
a young fellow named Tom Driscoll, whose proper 
place was away in the obscure background. Before 
the book was half finished those three were taking 
things almost entirely into their own hands and 
working the whole tale as a private venture of their 
own—a tale which they had nothing at all to do 
with, by rights. 

When the book was finished and I came to look 
around to see what had become of the team I had 
originally started out with—Aunt Patsy Cooper, 
Aunt Betsy Hale, the two boys, and Rowena the 
light-weight heroine—they were nowhere to be seen; 
they had disappeared from the story some time or 
other. I hunted about and found them—found 
them stranded, idle, forgotten, and permanently 
useless. It was very awkward. It was awkward all 
around; but more particularly in the case of Rowena, 
because there was a love-match on, between her and 
one of the twins that constituted the freak, and I had 
worked it up to a blistering heat and thrown in a 
209 


MARK TWAIN 


quite dramatic love-quarrel, wherein Rowena scathe 
ingly denounced her betrothed for getting drunk, 
and scoffed at his explanation of how it had hap¬ 
pened, and wouldn’t listen to it, and had driven him 
from her in the usual ‘"forever” way; and now 
here she sat crying and broken-hearted; for she had 
found that he had spoken only the truth; that it was 
not he, but the other half of the freak, that had drunk 
the liquor that made him drunk; that her half was a 
prohibitionist and had never drunk a drop in his life, 
and, although tight as a brick three days in the week, 
was wholly innocent of blame; and indeed, when 
sober, was constantly doing all he could to reform 
his brother, the other half, who never got any satis¬ 
faction out of drinking, anyway, because liquor 
never affected him. Yes, here she was, stranded 
with that deep injustice of hers torturing her poor 
torn heart. 

I didn’t know what to do with her. I was as 
sorry for her as anybody could be, but the campaign 
was over, the book was finished, she was side¬ 
tracked, and there was no possible way of crowding 
her in, anywhere. I could not leave her there, of 
course; it would not do. After spreading her out 
so, and making such a to-do over her affairs, it 
would be absolutely necessary to account to the 
reader for her. I thought and thought and studied 
and studied; but I arrived at nothing. I finally saw 
plainly that there was really no way but one—I 
must simply give her the grand bounce. It grieved 
me to do it, for after associating with her so much I 
had come to kind of like her after a fashion, not- 
210 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

withstanding she was such an ass and said such 
stupid, irritating things and was so nauseatingly 
sentimental. Still it had to be done. So, at the top 
of Chapter XVII, I put a “Calendar” remark con¬ 
cerning July Fourth, and began the chapter with 
this statistic: 

“Rowena went out in the back yard after supper 
to see the fireworks and fell down the well and got 
drowned.” 

It seemed abrupt, but I thought maybe the reader 
wouldn’t notice it, because I changed the subject 
right away to something else. Anyway it loosened 
up Rowena from where she was stuck and got her 
out of the way, and that was the main thing. It 
seemed a prompt good way of weeding out people 
that had got stalled, and a plenty good enough way 
for those others; so I hunted up the two boys and 
said “they went out back one night to stone the cat 
and fell down the well and got drowned.” Next I 
searched around and found old Aunt Patsy Cooper 
and Aunt Betsy Hale where they were aground, and 
said “they went out back one night to visit the sick 
and fell down the well and got drowned.” I was 
going to drown some of the others, but I gave up the 
idea, partly because I believed that if I kept that 
up it would arouse attention, and perhaps sympathy 
with those people, and partly because it was not a 
large well and would not hold any more anyway. 

Still the story was unsatisfactory. Here was a set 
of new characters who were become inordinately 
prominent and who persisted in remaining so to the 
end; and back yonder was an older set who made a 
211 


MARK TWAIN 


large noise and a great to-do for a little while and 
then suddenly played out utterly and fell down the 
well. There was a radical defect somewhere, and I 
must search it out and cure it. 

The defect turned out to be the one already 
spoken of—two stories in one, a farce and a tragedy. 
So I pulled out the farce and left the tragedy. This 
left the original team in, but only as mere names, 
not as characters. Their prominence was wholly 
gone; they were not even worth drowning; so I 
removed that detail. Also I took those twins apart 
and made two separate men of them. They had no 
occasion to have foreign names now, but it was too 
much trouble to remove them all through, so I left 
them christened as they were and made no ex-, 
planation. 


CHAPTER I 


T HE conglomerate twins were brought on the 
stage in Chapter I of the original extravaganza. 
Aunt Patsy Cooper has received their letter applying 
for board and lodging, and Rowena, her daughter, 
insane with joy, is begging for a hearing of it: 

“Well, set down then, and be quiet a minute and 
don’t fly around so; it fairly makes me tired to see 
you. It starts off so: ‘Honored Madam—’” 

“I like that, ma, don’t you? It shows they’re 
high-bred.” 

1 “Yes, I noticed that when I first read it. ‘My 
brother and I have seen your advertisement, by 
chance, in a copy of your local journal—’ ” 
r “It’s so beautiful and smooth, ma—don’t you 
think so?” 

“Yes, seems so to me—‘and beg leave to take 
the room you offer. We are twenty-four years of 
age, and twins—’” 

“Twins! How sweet! I do hope they are hand¬ 
some, and I just know they are! Don’t you hope 
they are, ma?” 

“Land, I ain’t particular. ' ‘We are Italians by 
birth—’” 

“It’s so romantic! Just think—there’s never 
been one in this town, and everybody will want to 
see them, and they’re all ours! Think of that!” 

213 


MARK TWAIN 


“—‘but have lived long in the various countries 
of Europe, and several years in the United States.”* 

“Oh, just think what wonders they’ve seen, ma! 
Won’t it be good to hear them talk?” 

“I reckon so; yes, I reckon so. ‘Our names 
are Luigi and Angelo Capello—’” 

“Beautiful, perfectly beautiful! Not like Jones 
and Robinson and those horrible names.” 

“‘You desire but one guest, but dear madam, if 
you will allow us to pay for two we will not discom¬ 
mode you. We will sleep together in the same bed. 
We have always been used to this, and prefer it.’ 
And then he goes on to say they will be down 
Thursday.” 

“And this is Tuesday—I don’t know how I’m 
ever going to wait, ma! The time does drag along 
so, and I’m so dying to see them! Which of them 
do you reckon is the tallest, ma?” 

“How do you s’pose I can tell, child? Mostly 
they are the same size—twins are.” 

“Well then, which do you reckon is the best 
looking?” 

“Goodness knows—I don’t.” 

“I think Angelo is; it’s the prettiest name, any¬ 
way. Don’t you think it’s a sweet name, ma?” 

“Yes, it’s well enough. I’d like both of them 
better if I knew the way to pronounce them—the 
Eyetalian way, I mean. The Missouri way and the 
Eyetalian way is different, I judge.” 

“Maybe—yes. It’s Luigi that writes the letter. 
What do you reckon is the reason Angelo didn’t 
write it?” 

314 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

“Why, how can I tell? What’s the difference 
who writes it, so long as it’s done?” 

“Oh, I hope it wasn’t because he is sick! You 
don’t think he is sick, do you, ma?” 

“Sick your granny; what’s to make him sick?” 

“Oh, there’s nsver any telling. These foreigners 
with that kind of names are so delicate, and of course 
that kind of names are not suited to our climate— 
you wouldn’t expect it.” 

[And so-on and so-on, no end. The time drags along; Thurs¬ 
day comes: the boat arrives in sf pouring storm toward mid¬ 
night.] 

At last there was a knock at the door and the 
anxious family jumped to open it. Two negro men 
entered, each carrying a trunk, and proceeded up¬ 
stairs toward the guest-room. Then followed a 
stupefying apparition—a double-headed human crea¬ 
ture with four arms, one body, and a single pair 
of legs! It—or they, as you please—bowed with 
elaborate foreign formality, but the Coopers could 
not respond immediately; they were paralyzed. At 
this moment there came from the rear of the group 
a fervent ejaculation—“My lan’!”—followed by 
a crash of crockery, and the slave-wench Nancy 
stood petrified and staring, with a tray of wrecked 
tea-things at her feet. The incident broke the spell, 
and brought the family to consciousness. The 
beautiful heads of the new-comer bowed again, and 
one of them said with easy grace and dignity: 

“I crave the honor, madam and miss, to introduce 
to you my brother, Count Luigi Capello,” (the other 
215 


MARK TWAIN 

head bowed) “and myself—Count Angelo; and at 
the same time offer sincere apologies for the lateness 
of our coming, which was unavoidable,” and both 
heads bowed again. 

The poor old lady was in a whirl of amazement 
and confusion, but she managed to stammer out: 

“I’m sure I’m glad to make your acquaintance, 
sir—I mean, gentlemen. As for the delay, it is 
nothing, don’t mention it. This is my daughter 
Rowena, sir—gentlemen. Please step into the par¬ 
lor and sit down and have a bite and sup; you are 
dreadful wet and must be uncomfortable—both of 
you, I mean.” 

But to the old lady’s relief they courteously ex¬ 
cused themselves, saying it would be wrong to keep 
the family out of their beds longer; then each head 
bowed in turn and uttered a friendly good night, and 
the singular figure moved away in the wake of 
Rowena’s small brothers, who bore candles, and dis¬ 
appeared up the stairs. 

The widow tottered into the parlor and sank into 
a chair with a gasp, and Rowena followed, tongue- 
tied and dazed. The two sat silent in the throbbing 
summer heat unconscious of the million-voiced 
music of the mosquitoes, unconscious of the roaring 
gale, the lashing and thrashing of the rain along the 
windows and the roof, the white glare of the light¬ 
ning, the tumultuous booming and bellowing of the 
thunder; conscious of nothing but that prodigy, that 
uncanny apparition that had come and gone so sud¬ 
denly—that weird strange thing that was so soft- 
spoken and so gentle of manner and yet had shaken 
216 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

them up like an earthquake with the shock of its 
gruesome aspect. At last a cold little shudder 
quivered along down the widow’s meager frame and 
she said in a weak voice: 

“Ugh, it was awful—just the mere look of that 
phillipene!” 

Rowena did not answer. Her faculties were still 
caked, she had not yet found her voice. Presently 
the widow said, a little resentfully: 

‘‘Always been used to sleeping together—in fact, 
prefer it. And I was thinking it was to accommo¬ 
date me. I thought it was very good of them, 
whereas a person situated as that young man is—” 

“Ma, you oughtn’t to begin by getting up a preju¬ 
dice against him. I’m sure he is good-hearted and 
means well. Both of his faces show it.” 

“I’m not so certain about that. The one on the 
left—I mean the one on it's left—hasn’t near as 
good a face, in my opinion, as its brother.” 

“That’s Luigi.” 

“Yes, Luigi; anyway it’s the dark-skinned one; 
the one that was west of his brother when they stood 
in the door. Up to all kinds of mischief and diso¬ 
bedience when he was a boy, I’ll be bound. I lay 
his mother had trouble to lay her hand on him when 
she wanted him. But the one on the right is as good 
as gold, I can see that.” 

“That’s Angelo.” 

“Yes, Angelo, I reckon, though I can’t tell t’other 
from which by their names, yet awhile. But it’s the 
right-hand one—the blond one. He has such kind blue 
eyes, and curly copper hair and fresh complexion—” 
15 217 


MARK TWAIN 

“And such a noble face!—oh, it is a noble face, 
ma, just royal, you may say! And beautiful— 
deary me, how beautiful! But both are that; the 
dark one’s as beautiful as a picture. There’s no 
such wonderful faces and handsome heads in this 
town—none that even begin. And such hands— 
especially Angelo’s—so shapely and—” 

“Stuff, how could you tell which they belonged 
to?—they had gloves on.” 

“Why, didn’t I see them take off their hats?” 

“That don’t signify. They might have taken off 
each other’s hats. Nobody could tell. There was 
just a wormy squirming of arms in the air—seemed 
to be a couple of dozen of them, all writhing at 
once, and it just made me dizzy to see them go.” 

“Why, ma, I hadn’t any difficulty. There’s two 
arms on each shoulder—” 

“There, now. One arm on each shoulder belongs 
to each of the creatures, don’t it? For a person to 
have two arms on one shoulder wouldn’t do him any 
good, would it ? Of course not. Each has an arm 
on each shoulder. Now then, you tell me which of 
them belongs to which, if you can. They don’t 
know, themselves—they just work whichever arm 
comes handy. Of course they do; especially if they 
are in a hurry and can’t stop to think which belongs 
to which.” 

The mother seemed to have the rights of the argu¬ 
ment, so the daughter abandoned the struggle. 
Presently the widow rose with a yawn and said: 

“Poor thing, I hope it won’t catch cold; it was 
powerful wet, just drenched, you may say. I hope 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

it has left its boots outside, so they can be dried.” 
Then she gave a little start, and looked perplexed. 
“Now I remember I heard one of them ask Joe to 
call him at half after seven—I think it was the one 
on the left—no, it was the one to the east of the 
other one—-but I didn’t hear the other one say any¬ 
thing. I wonder if he wants to be called too. Do 
you reckon it’s too late to ask?” 

“Why, ma, it’s not necessary. Calling one is 
calling both. If one gets up, the other’s got to.” 

“Sho, of course; I never thought of that. Well, 
come along, maybe we can get some sleep, but I 
don’t know, I’m so shook up with what we’ve been 
through.” 

The stranger had made an impression on the boys, 
too. They had a word of talk as they were getting 
to bed. Henry, the gentle, the humane, said: 

“I feel ever so sorry for it, don’t you, Joe?” 

But Joe was a boy of this world, active, enter¬ 
prising, and had a theatrical side to him: 

“Sorry? Why, how you talk! It can’t stir a 
step without attracting attention. It’s just grand!” 

Henry said, reproachfully: 

“Instead of pitying it, Joe, you talk as if—” 

“Talk as if whatf I know one thing mighty 
certain: if you can fix me so I can eat for two and 
only have to stub toes for one, I ain’t going to fool 
away no such chance just for sentiment.” 

The twins were wet and tired, and they proceeded 
to undress without any preliminary remarks. The 
abundance of sleeve made the partnership coat hard 
to get off, for it was like skinning a tarantula; but it 


MARK TWAIN 


came at last, after much tugging and perspiring. 
The mutual vest followed. Then the brothers stood 
up before the glass, and each took off his own cravat 
and collar. The collars were of the standing kind, 
and came high up under the ears, like the sides of a 
wheelbarrow, as required by the fashion of the day. 
The cravats were as broad as a bank-bill, with 
fringed ends which stood far out to right and left 
like the wings of a dragon-fly, and this also was 
strictly in accordance with the fashion of the time. 
Each cravat, as to color, was in perfect taste, so far 
as its owner’s complexion was concerned—a deli¬ 
cate pink, in the case of the blond brother, a violent 
scarlet in the case of the brunette—but as a combi¬ 
nation they broke all the laws of taste known to 
civilization. Nothing more fiendish and irrecon¬ 
cilable than those shrieking and blaspheming colors 
could have been contrived. The wet boots gave no 
end of trouble—to Luigi. When they were off at 
last, Angelo said, with bitterness: 

“I wish you wouldn’t wear such tight boots, they 
hurt my feet.” 

Luigi answered with indifference: 

‘‘My friend, when I am in command of our body, 
I choose my apparel according to my own con¬ 
venience, as I have remarked more than several 
times already. When you are in command, I beg 
you will do as you please.” 

Angelo was hurt, and the tears came into his 
eyes. There was gentle reproach in his voice, but 
not anger, when he replied: 

“Luigi, I often consult your wishes, but you 
320 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

never consult mine. When I am in command I 
treat you as a guest; I try to make you feel at 
home; when you are in command you treat me as 
an intruder, you make me feel unwelcome. It 
embarrasses me cruelly in company, for I can see 
that people notice it and comment on it.” 

‘‘Oh, damn the people,” responded the brother 
languidly, and with the air of one who is tired of the 
subject. 

A slight shudder shook the frame of Angelo, but 
he said nothing and the conversation ceased. Each 
buttoned his own share of the nightshirt in silence; 
then Luigi, with Paine’s Age of Reason in his hand, 
sat down in one chair and put his feet in another 
and lit his pipe, while Angelo took his Whole Duty 
of Man , and both began to read. Angelo presently 
began to cough; his coughing increased and became 
mixed with gaspings for breath, and he was finally 
obliged to make an appeal to his brother’s humanity: 

“Luigi, if you would only smoke a little milder 
tobacco, I am sure I could learn not to mind it in 
time, but this is so strong, and the pipe is so rank 
that—” 

“Angelo, I wouldn’t be such a baby! I have 
learned to smoke in a week, and the trouble is 
already over with me; if you would try, you could 
learn too, and then you would stop spoiling my 
comfort with your everlasting complaints.” 

“Ah, brother, that is a strong word—everlasting 
—and isn’t quite fair. I only complain when I 
suffocate; you know I don’t complain when we are 
in the open air.” 


221 


MARK TWAIN 

“Well, anyway, you could learn to smoke your- 
self.” 

“But my principles , Luigi, you forget my prin¬ 
ciples. You would not have me do a thing which I 
regard as a sin?” 

“Oh, bosh!” 

The conversation ceased again, for Angelo was 
sick and discouraged and strangling; but after some 
time he closed his book and asked Luigi to sing 
“From Greenland’s Icy Mountains” with him, but 
he would not, and when he tried to sing by himself 
Luigi did his best to drown his plaintive tenor with 
a rude and rollicking song delivered in a thundering 
bass. 

After the singing there was silence, and neither 
brother was happy. Before blowing the light out 
Luigi swallowed half a tumbler of whisky, and 
Angelo, whose sensitive organization could not 
endure intoxicants of any kind, took a pill to keep 
it from giving him the headache. 


CHAPTER II 


T HE family sat in the breakfast-room waiting for 
the twins to come down. The widow was 
quiet, the daughter was alive with happy excitement. 
She said: 

‘‘Ah, they’re a boon, ma, just a boon! don’t you 
think so?” 

“Laws, I hope so, I don’t know.” 

“Why, ma, yes you do. They’re so fine and 
handsome, and high-bred and polite, so every way 
superior to our gawks here in this village; why, 
they’ll make life different from what it was—so 
humdrum and commonplace, you know—oh, you 
may be sure they’re full of accomplishments, and 
knowledge of the world, and all that, that will be an 
immense advantage to society here. Don't you 
think so, ma?” 

“Mercy on me, how should I know, and I’ve 
hardly set eyes on them yet.” After a pause she 
added, “They made considerable noise after they 
went up.” 

“Noise? Why, ma, they were singing! And it 
was beautiful, too.” 

“Oh, it was well enough, but too mixed-up, 
seemed to me.” 

“Now, ma, honor bright, did you ever hear 
223 


MARK TWAIN 

‘Greenland’s Icy Mountains’ sung sweeter—now 
did you?” 

“ If it had been sung by itself, it would have been 
uncommon sweet, I don’t deny it; but what they 
wanted to mix it up with ‘Old Bob Ridley’ for, I 
can’t make out. Why, they don’t go together, at all. 
They are not of the same nature. ‘Bob Ridley’ is 
a common rackety slam-bang secular song, one of 
the rippingest and rantingest and noisiest there is. 
I am no judge of music, and I don’t claim it, but in 
my opinion nobody can make those two songs go 
together right.” 

“Why, ma, I thought—” 

“It don’t make any difference what you thought, 
it can’t be done. They tried it, and to my mind it 
was a failure. I never heard such a crazy uproar; 
seemed to me, sometimes, the roof would come off; 
and as for the cats—well, I’ve lived a many a year, 
and seen cats aggravated in more ways than one, 
but I’ve never seen cats take on the way they took 
on last night.” 

“ Well, I don’t think that that goes for anything, 
ma, because it is the nature of cats that any sound 
that is unusual—” 

“Unusual! You may well call it so. Now if 
they are going to sing duets every night, I do hope 
they will both sing the same tune at the same time, 
for in my opinion a duet that is made up of two 
different tunes is a mistake; especially when the 
tunes ain’t any kin to one another, that way.” 

“But, ma, I think it must be a foreign custom; 
and it must be right too; and the best way, because 
224, 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

they have had every opportunity to know what is 
right, and it don’t stand to reason that with their 
education they would do anything but what the 
highest musical authorities have sanctioned. You 
can’t help but admit that, ma.” 

The argument was formidably strong; the old 
lady could not find any way around it; so, after 
thinking it over awhile she gave in with a sigh of 
discontent, and admitted that the daughter’s posi¬ 
tion was probably correct. Being vanquished, she 
had no mind to continue the topic at that disad¬ 
vantage, and was about to seek a change when a 
change came of itself. A footstep was heard on the 
stairs, and she said: • ■{ 

“There—he’s coming!” 

^ “They, ma—you ought to say they —it’s nearer 
right.” 

The new lodger, rather shoutingly dressed but 
looking superbly handsome, stepped with courtly 
carriage into the trim little breakfast-room and put 
out all his cordial arms at once, like one of those 
pocket-knives with a multiplicity of blades, and 
shook hands with the whole family simultaneously. 
He was so easy and pleasant and hearty that all 
embarrassment presently thawed away and disap¬ 
peared, and a cheery feeling of friendliness and 
comradeship took its place. He—or preferably 
they—were asked to occupy the seat of honor at 
the foot of the table. They consented with thanks, 
and carved the beefsteak with one set of their hands 
while they distributed it at the same time with the 
other set. 


225 


MARK TWAIN 


“Will you have coffee, gentlemen, or tea?” 

“Coffee for Luigi, if you please, madam, tea for 
me. 

“Cream and sugar?” 

“For me, yes, madam; Luigi takes his coffee 
black. Our natures differ a good deal from each 
other, and our tastes also.” 

The first time the negro girl Nancy appeared in 
the door and saw the two heads turned in opposite 
directions and both talking at once, then saw the 
commingling arms feed potatoes into one mouth 
and coffee into the other at the same time, she had 
to pause and pull herself out of a faintness that 
came over her; but after that she held her grip and 
was able to wait on the table with fair courage. 

Conversation fell naturally into the customary 
grooves. It was a little jerky, at first, because 
none of the family could get smoothly through a 
sentence without a wabble in it here and a break 
there, caused by some new surprise in the way of 
attitude or gesture on the part of the twins. The 
weather suffered the most. The weather was all 
finished up and disposed of, as a subject, before the 
simple Missourians had gotten sufficiently wonted 
to the spectacle of one body feeding two heads to 
feel composed and reconciled in the presence of so 
bizarre a miracle. And even after everybody’s 
mind became tranquilized there was still one slight 
distraction left: the hand that picked up a biscuit 
carried it to the wrong head, as often as any other 
way, and the wrong mouth devoured it. This was a 
puzzling thing, and marred the talk a little. It 
226 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

bothered the widow to such a degree that she 
presently dropped out of the conversation without 
knowing it, and fell to watching and guessing and 
talking to herself: 

4 ‘Now that hand is going to take that coffee to 
—no, it’s gone to the other mouth; I can’t under¬ 
stand it; and now, here is the dark-complected hand 
with a potato on its fork, I’ll see what goes with it 
—there, the light-complected head’s got it, as sure 
as I live!” Finally Rowena said: 

“Ma, what is the matter with you? Are you 
dreaming about something?” 

The old lady came to herself and blushed; then 
she explained with the first random thing that came 
into her mind: “I saw Mr. Angelo take up Mr. 
Luigi’s coffee, and I thought maybe he—sha’n’t I 
give you a cup, Mr. Angelo?” 

“Oh no, madam, I am very much obliged, but I 
never drink coffee, much as I would like to. You 
did see me take up Luigi’s cup, it is true, but if you 
noticed, I didn’t carry it to my mouth, but to his.” 

“Y-es, I thought you did. Did you mean to?” 

“How?” 

The widow was a little embarrassed again. She 
Baid: 

“I don’t know but what I’m foolish, and you 
mustn’t mind; but you see, he got the coffee I was 
expecting to see you drink, and you got a potato 
that I thought he was going to get. So I thought it 
might be a mistake all around, and everybody get¬ 
ting what wasn’t intended for him.” 

Both twins laughed and Luigi said: 

227 


MARK TWAIN 


“Dear madam, there wasn’t any mistake. We 
are always helping each other that way. It is a 
great economy for us both; it saves time and labor. 
We have a system of signs which nobody can notice 
or understand but ourselves. If I am using both 
my hands and want some coffee, I make the sign and 
Angelo furnishes it to me; and you saw that when 
he needed a potato I delivered it.” 

“How convenient!” 

“Yes, and often of the extremest value. Take 
the Mississippi boats, for instance. They are always 
overcrowded. There is table-room for only half of 
the passengers, therefore they have to set a second 
table for the second half. The stewards rush both 
parties, they give them no time to eat a satisfying 
meal, both divisions leave the table hungry. It isn’t 
so with us. Angelo books himself for the one table, 
I book myself for the other. Neither of us eats any¬ 
thing at the other’s table, but just simply works— 
works. Thus, you see there are four hands to feed 
Angelo, and the same four to feed me. Each of us 
eats two meals.” 

The old lady was dazed with admiration, and kept 
saying, “It is ^rfectly wonderful, perfectly wonder¬ 
ful!” and the boy Joe licked his chops enviously, 
but said nothing—at least aloud. 

“Yes,” continued Luigi, “our construction may 
have its disadvantages—in fact, has —but it also 
has its compensations of one sort and another. 
Take travel, for instance. Travel is enormously ex¬ 
pensive, in all countries; we have been obliged to 
do a vast deal of it—come, Angelo, don’t put any 
228 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

more sugar in your tea, I’m just over one indiges¬ 
tion and don’t want another right away—been 
obliged to do a deal of it, as I was saying. Well, 
we always travel as one person, since we occupy but 
one seat; so we save half the fare.” 

“How romantic!” interjected Rowena, with effu¬ 
sion. 

“Yes, my dear young lady, and how practical 
too, and economical. In Europe, beds in the hotels 
are not charged with the board, but separately— 
another saving, for we stood to our rights and 
paid for the one bed only. The landlords often 
insisted that as both of us occupied the bed we 
ought—” 

“No, they didn’t,” said Angelo. “They did it 
only twice, and in both cases it was a double bed— 
a rare thing in Europe—and the double bed gave 
them some excuse. Be fair to the landlords; twice 
doesn’t constitute ‘often.’” 

“Well, that depends—that depends. I knew a 
man who fell down a well twice. He said he didn’t 
mind the first time, but he thought the second time 
was once too often. Have I misused that word, 
Mrs. Cooper?” 

“To tell the truth, I was afraid you had, but it 
seems to look, now, like you hadn’t.” She stopped, 
and was evidently struggling with the difficult prob¬ 
lem a moment, then she added in the tone of one 
who is convinced without being converted, “It seems 
so, but I can’t somehow tell why.” 

Rowena thought Luigi’s retort was wonderfully 
quick and bright, and she remarked to herself with 
229 


MARK TWAIN 


satisfaction that there wasn’t any young native of 
Dawson’s Landing that could have risen to the 
occasion like that. Luigi detected the applause in 
her face, and expressed his pleasure and his thanks 
with his eyes; and so eloquently withal, that the 
girl was proud and pleased, and hung out the deli¬ 
cate sign of it on her cheeks. 

Luigi went on, with animation: 

“Both of us get a bath for one ticket, theater 
seat for one ticket, pew-rent is on the same basis, 
but at peep-shows we pay double.” 

“We have much to be thankful for,” said Angelo, 
impressively, with a reverent light in his eye and 
a reminiscent tone in his voice, “we have been 
greatly blessed. As a rule, what one of us has 
lacked, the other, by the bounty of Providence, has 
been able to supply. My brother is hardy, I am 
not; he is very masculine, assertive, aggressive; I 
am much less so. I am subject to illness, he is 
never ill. I cannot abide medicines, and cannot 
take them, but he has no prejudice against them, 
and—” 

“Why, goodness gracious,” interrupted the widow, 
“when you are sick, does he take the medicine for 
you?” 

“Always, madam.” 

“Why, I never heard such a thing in my life! I 
think it’s beautiful of you.” 

“Oh, madam, it’s nothing, don’t mention it, it’s 
really nothing at all.” 

“But I say it’s beautiful, and I stick to it!” cried 
the widow, with a speaking moisture in her eye? 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

“ A well brother to take the medicine for his poor 
sick brother—I wish I had such a son,” and she 
glanced reproachfully at her boys. “I declare I’ll 
never rest till I’ve shook you by the hand,” and she 
scrambled out of her chair in a fever of generous 
enthusiasm, and made for the twins, blind with her 
tears, and began to shake. The boy Joe corrected 
her: 

“You’re shaking the wrong one, ma.” 

This flurried her, but she made a swift change and 
went on shaking. 

“Got the wrong one again, ma,” said the boy. 

“Oh, shut up, can’t you!” said the widow, em¬ 
barrassed and irritated. “Give me all your hands, 
I want to shake them all; for I know you are both 
just as good as you can be.” 

It was a victorious thought, a master-stroke of 
diplomacy, though that never occurred to her and 
she cared nothing for diplomacy. She shook the 
four hands in turn cordially, and went back to her 
place in a state of high and fine exultation uiat 
made her look young and handsome. 

“Indeed I owe everything to Luigi,” said Angelo, 
affectionately. “But for him I could not have sur¬ 
vived our boyhood days, when we were friendless 
and poor—ah, so poor! We lived from hand to 
mouth—lived on the coarse fare of unwilling charity, 
and for weeks and weeks together not a morsel of 
food passed my lips, for its character revolted me 
and I could not eat it. But for Luigi I should have 
died. He ate for us both.” 

“How noble!” sighed Rowena. 

2.31 


MARK TWAIN 


“Do you hear that?” said the widow, severely, 
to her boys. “Let it be an example to you—I 
mean you, Joe.” 

Joe gave his head a barely perceptible disparaging 
toss and said: “Et for both. It ain’t anything— 
I’d ’a’ done it.” 

“Hush, if you haven’t got any better manners 
than that. You don’t see the point at all. It 
wasn’t good food.” 

“I don’t care—-it was food, and I’d ’a’ et it if it 
was rotten.” 

“Shame! Such language! Can’t you under¬ 
stand? They were starving—actually starving— 
and he ate for both, and—” 

“Shucks! you gimme a chance and I’ll—” 

“There, now—close your head! and don’t you 
open it again till you’re asked.” 

[Angelo goes on and tells how his parents the Count and 
Countess had to fly from Florence for political reasons, and died 
poor in Berlin bereft of their great property by confiscation; 
ano how he and Luigi had to travel with a freak-show during 
two years and suffer semi-starvation.] 

“That" hateful black-bread; but I seldom ate 
anything during that time; that was poor Luigi’a 
affair—” 

“I’ll never Mister him again!” cried the widow,' 
with strong emotion, “he’s Luigi to me, from this 
out!” 

“Thank you a thousand times, madam, a thousand 
times! though in truth I don’t deserve it.” 

“Ah, Luigi is always the fortunate one when 
honors are showering,” said Angelo, plaintively; 

232 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

“now what have I done, Mrs. Cooper, that you 
leave me out? Come, you must strain a point in 
my favor.” 

“Call you Angelo? Why, certainly I will; what 
are you thinking of! In the case of twins, why—” 

“But, ma, you’re breaking up the story—do let 
him go on.” 

“You keep still, Rowena Cooper, and he can go 
on all the better, I reckon. One interruption don’t 
hurt, it’s two that makes the trouble.” 

“But you’ve added one, now, and that is three.” 

“Rowena! I will not allow you to talk back at 
me when you have got nothing rational to say.” 

16 


CHAPTER III 


[After breakfast the whole village crowded in, and there was a 
grand reception in honor of the twins; and at the close of it the 
gifted “freak” captured everybody’s admiration by sitting down 
at the piano and knocking out a classic four-handed piece in 
great style. Then the Judge took it—or them—driving in his 
buggy and showed off his village.] 

jL along the streets the people crowded the 



j~\ windows and stared at the amazing twins. 
Troops of small boys flocked after the buggy, ex¬ 
cited and yelling. At first the dogs showed no 
interest. They thought they merely saw three men 
in a buggy—a matter of no consequence; but 
when they found out the facts of the case, they 
altered their opinion pretty radically, and joined the 
boys, expressing their minds as they came. Other 
dogs got interested; indeed, all the dogs. It was a 
spirited sight to see them come leaping fences, 
tearing around corners, swarming out of every by¬ 
street and alley. The noise they made was some¬ 
thing beyond belief—or praise. They did not seem 
to be moved by malice but only by prejudice, the 
common human prejudice against lack of conformity. 
If the twins turned their heads, they broke and fled 
in every direction, but stopped at a safe distance 
and faced about; and then formed and came on 
again as soon as the strangers showed them their 


234 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

back. Negroes and farmers’ wives took to the 
woods when the buggy came upon them suddenly, 
and altogether the drive was pleasant and animated, 
and a refreshment all around. 

[It was a long and lively drive. Angelo was a Methodist, Luigi 
was a Free-thinker. The Judge was very proud of his Free¬ 
thinkers’ Society, which was flourishing along in a most pros¬ 
perous way and already had two members—himself and the 
obscure and neglected Pudd’nhead Wilson. It was to meet 
that evening, and he invited Luigi to join; a thing which Luigi 
was glad to do, partly because it would please himself, and 
partly because it would gravel Angelo.] 

They had now arrived at the widow’s gate, and 
the excursion was ended. The twins politely ex¬ 
pressed their obligations for the pleasant outing 
which had been afforded them; to which the Judge 
bowed his thanks, and then said he would now go 
and arrange for the Free-thinkers’ meeting, and 
would call for Count Luigi in the evening. 

“For you also, dear sir,” he added hastily, turn¬ 
ing to Angelo and bowing. “In addressing myself 
particularly to your brother, I was not meaning to 
leave you out. It was an unintentional rudeness, 
I assure you, and due wholly to accident—accident 
and preoccupation. I beg you to forgive me.” 

His quick eye had seen the sensitive blood mount 
into Angelo’s face, betraying the wound that had 
been inflicted. The sting of the slight had gone 
deep, but the apology was so prompt, and so evident¬ 
ly sincere, that the hurt was almost immediately 
healed, and a forgiving smile testified to the kindly 
Judge that all was well again. 


MARK TWAIN 

Concealed behind Angelo’s modest and unas¬ 
suming exterior, and unsuspected by any but his 
intimates, was a lofty pride, a pride of almost ab¬ 
normal proportions, indeed, and this rendered him 
ever the prey of slights; and although they were 
almost always imaginary ones, they hurt none the 
less on that account. By ill fortune Judge Driscoll 
had happened to touch his sorest point, i.e. y his 
conviction that his brother’s presence was welcomer 
everywhere than his own; that he was often invited, 
out of mere courtesy, where only his brother was 
wanted, and that in a majority of cases he would 
not be included in an invitation if he could be left 
out without offense. A sensitive nature like this 
is necessarily subject to moods; moods which trav¬ 
erse the whole gamut of feeling; moods which know 
all the climes of emotion, from the sunny heights of 
joy to the black abysses of despair. At times, in 
his seasons of deepest depressions, Angelo almost 
wished that he and his brother might become seg¬ 
regated from each other and be separate individuals, 
like other men. But of course as soon as his mind 
cleared and these diseased imaginings passed away, 
he shuddered at the repulsive thought, and earnest¬ 
ly prayed that it might visit him no more. To be 
separate, and as other men are! How awkward it 
would seem; how unendurable. What would he 
do with his hands, his arms? How would his legs 
feel? How odd, and strange, and grotesque every 
action, attitude, movement, gesture would be. To 
sleep by himself, eat by himself, walk by himself— 
how lonely, how unspeakably lonely! No, no, any 
236 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

fate but that. In every way and from every point, 
the idea was revolting. 

This was of course natural; to have felt other¬ 
wise would have been unnatural. He had known 
no life but a combined one; he had been familiar 
with it from his birth; he was not able to conceive 
of any other as being agreeable, or even bearable. 
To him, in the privacy of his secret thoughts, all 
other men were monsters, deformities: and during 
three-fourths of his life their aspect had filled him 
with what promised to be an unconquerable aver¬ 
sion. But at eighteen his eye began to take note of 
female beauty; and little by little, undefined long¬ 
ings grew up in his heart, under whose softening 
influences the old stubborn aversion gradually di¬ 
minished, and finally disappeared. Men were still 
monstrosities to him, still deformities, and in his 
sober moments he had no desire to be like them, but 
their strange and unsocial and uncanny construction 
was no longer offensive to him. 

This had been a hard day for him, physically and 
mentally. He had been called in the morning be¬ 
fore he had quite slept off the effects of the liquor 
which Luigi had drunk; and so, for the first half- 
hour had had the seedy feeling, and languor, the 
brooding depression, the cobwebby mouth and 
druggy taste that come of dissipation and are so ill 
a preparation for bodily or intellectual activities; 
the long violent strain of the reception had followed; 
and this had been followed, in turn, by the dreary 
sight-seeing, the Judge’s wearying explanations and 
laudations of the sights, and the stupefying clamor 

237 


MARK TWAIN 


of the dogs. As a congruous conclusion, a fitting 
end, his feelings had been hurt, a slight had been 
put upon him. He would have been glad to forego 
dinner and betake himself to rest and sleep, but he 
held his peace and said no word, for he knew his 
brother, Luigi, was fresh, unweary, full of life, spirit, 
energy; he would have scoffed at the idea of wast¬ 
ing valuable time on a bed or a sofa, and would have 
refused permission. 


CHAPTER IV 


R OWENA was dining out, Joe and Harry were 
, belated at play, there were but three chairs 
and four persons that noon at the home dinner- 
table—the twins, the widow, and her chum, Aunt 
Betsy Hale. The widow soon perceived that An¬ 
gelo’s spirits were as low as Luigi’s were high, and 
also that he had a jaded look. Her motherly solici¬ 
tude was aroused, and she tried to get him interested 
in the talk and win him to a happier frame of mind, 
but the cloud of sadness remained on his counte¬ 
nance. Luigi lent his help, too. He used a form and 
a phrase which he was always accustomed to employ 
in these circumstances. He gave his brother an affec¬ 
tionate slap on the shoulder and said, encouragingly: 
“Cheer up, the worst is yet to come!” 

But this did no good. It never did. If anything, 
it made the matter worse, as a rule, because it 
irritated Angelo. This made it a favorite with 
Luigi. By and by the widow said: 

‘‘Angelo, you are tired, you’ve overdone your¬ 
self; you go right to bed after dinner, and get a 
good nap and a rest, then you’ll be all right.” 

“Indeed, I would give anything if I could do 
that, madam.” 

“And what’s to hender, I’d like to know? Land, 
239 


MARK TWAIN 


the room’s yours to do what you please with! The 
idea that you can’t do what you like with your 
own!” 

“But, you see, there’s one prime essential— 
an essential of the very first importance—which 
isn’t my own.” 

“What is that?” 

“My body.” 

The old ladies looked puzzled, and Aunt Betsy 
Hale said: 

“Why bless your heart, how is that?” 

“It’s my brother’s.” 

“Your brother’s! I don’t quite understand. I 
supposed it belonged to both of you.” 

“So it does. But not to both at the same time.” 

“That is mighty curious; I don’t see how it can 
be. I shouldn’t think it could be managed that 
way.” 

“Oh, it’s a good enough arrangement, and goes 
very well; in fact, it wouldn’t do to have it other¬ 
wise. I find that the teetotalers and the anti¬ 
teetotalers hire the use of the same hall for their 
meetings. Both parties don’t use it at the same 
time, do they?” 

“You bet they don’t!” said both old ladies in a 
breath. 

“And, moreover,” said Aunt Betsy, “the Free¬ 
thinkers and the Baptist Bible class use the same 
room over the Market house, but you can take my 
word for it they don’t mush up together and use it 
at the same time.” 

“Very well,” said Angelo, “you understand it 
240 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 4 

now. And it stands to reason that the arrangement 
couldn’t be improved. I’ll prove it to you. If our 
legs tried to obey two wills, how could we ever get 
anywhere? I would start one way, Luigi would 
start another, at the same moment—the result 
would be a standstill, wouldn’t it?” 

“As sure as you are born! Now ain’t that won¬ 
derful! A body would never have thought of it.” 

“We should always be arguing and fussing and 
disputing over the merest trifles. We should lose 
worlds of time, for we couldn’t go down-stairs or 
up, couldn’t go to bed, couldn’t rise, couldn’t wash, 
couldn’t dress, couldn’t stand up, couldn’t sit down, 
couldn’t even cross our legs, without calling a meet¬ 
ing first and explaining the case and passing resolu¬ 
tions, and getting consent. It wouldn’t ever do— 
now would it?” 

“Do? Why, it would wear a person out in a 
week! Did you ever hear anything like it, Patsy 
Cooper?” 

“Oh, you’ll find there’s more than one thing 
about them that ain’t commonplace,” said the 
widow, with the complacent air of a person with a 
property right in a novelty that is under admiring 
scrutiny. 

“Well, now, how ever do you manage it? I 
don’t mind saying I’m suffering to know.” 

“He who made us,” said Angelo reverently, “and 
with us this difficulty, also provided a way out of 
it. By a mysterious law of our being, each of us 
has utter and indisputable command of our body 
a week at a time, turn and turn about,” 

241 


MARK TWAIN 


“Well, I never! Now ain’t that beautiful!” 

“Yes, it is beautiful and infinitely wise and just. 
The week ends every Saturday at midnight to the 
minute, to the second, to the last shade of a fraction 
of a second, infallibly, unerringly, and in that instant 
the one brother’s power over the body vanishes and 
the other brother takes possession, asleep or awake.” 

“How marvelous are His ways, and past finding 
out!” 

Luigi said: “So exactly to the instant does the 
change come, that during our stay in many of the 
great cities of the world, the public clocks were 
regulated by it; and as hundreds of thousands of 
private clocks and watches were set and corrected in 
accordance with the public clocks, we really fur¬ 
nished the standard time for the entire city.” 

“Don’t tell me that He don’t do miracles any 
more! Blowing down the walls of Jericho with 
rams’ horns wa’n’t as difficult, in my opinion.” 

“And that is not all,” said Angelo. “A thing 
that is even more marvelous, perhaps, is the fact 
that the change takes note of longitude and fits 
itself to the meridian we are on. Luigi is in com¬ 
mand this week. Now, if on Saturday night at a 
moment before midnight we could fly in an instant 
to a point fifteen degrees west of here, he would 
hold possession of the power another hour, for the 
change observes local time and no other.” 

Betsy Hale was deeply impressed, and said with 
solemnity: 

“Patsy Cooper, for de tail it lays over the Passage 
of the Red Sea.” 


242 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

4 ‘Now, I shouldn’t go as far as that,” said Aunt 
Patsy, “but if you’ve a mind to say Sodom and 
Gomorrah, I am with you, Betsy Hale.” 

“I am agreeable, then, though I do think I was 
right, and I believe Parson Maltby would say the 
same. Well, now, there’s another thing. Suppose 
one of you wants to borrow the legs a minute from 
the one that’s got them, could he let him?” 

“Yes, but we hardly ever do that. There were 
disagreeable results, several times, and so we very 
seldom ask or grant the privilege, nowadays, and 
we never even think of such a thing unless the case 
is extremely urgent. Besides, a week’s possession 
at a time seems so little that we can’t bear to spare 
a minute of it. People who have the use of their 
legs all the time never think of what a blessing it is, 
of course. It never occurs to them; it’s just their 
natural ordinary condition, and so it does not excite 
them at all. But when I wake up, on Sunday 
morning, and it’s my week and I feel the power all 
through me, oh, such a wave of exultation and 
thanksgiving goes surging over me, and I want to 
shout ‘I can walk! I can walk!’ Madam, do you 
ever, at your uprising, want to shout ‘I can walk! 
I can walk!’?” 

“No, you poor unfortunate cretur’, but I’ll never 
get out of my bed again without doing it! Laws, 
to think I’ve had this unspeakable blessing all my 
long life and never had the grace to thank the good 
Lord that gave it to me!” 

Tears stood in the eyes of both the old ladies and 
the widow said, softly: 


243 


MARK TWAIN 

‘‘Betsy Hale, we have learned something, you 
and me.” 

The conversation now drifted wide, but by and by 
floated back once more to that admired detail, the 
rigid and beautiful impartiality with which the pos¬ 
session of power had been distributed between the 
twins. Aunt Betsy saw in it a far finer justice than 
human law exhibits in related cases. She said: 

“In my opinion it ain’t right now, and never has 
been right, the way a twin born a quarter of a 
minute sooner than the other one gets all the land 
and grandeurs and nobilities in the old countries and 
his brother has to go bare and be a nobody. Which 
of you was bom first ?” 

Angelo’s head was resting against Luigi’s; weari¬ 
ness had overcome him, and for the past five min¬ 
utes he had been peacefully sleeping. The old 
ladies had dropped their voices to a lulling drone, to 
help him to steal the rest his brother wouldn’t take 
him up-stairs to get. Luigi listened a moment to 
Angelo’s regular breathing, then said in a voice 
barely audible: 

“We were both born at the same time, but I am 
six months older than he is.” 

“For the land’s sake!” 

“’Sh! don’t wake him up; he wouldn’t like my 
telling this. It has always been kept secret till 
now.” 

“But how in the world can it be? If you were 
both bom at the same time, how can one of you be 
older than the other?” 

“It is very simple, and I assure you it is true. I 
244 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

was bom with a full crop of hair, he was as bald as 
an egg for six months. I could walk six months 
before he could make a step. I finished teething 
six months ahead of him. I began to take solids six 
months before he left the breast. I began to talk 
six months before he could say a word. Last, and 
absolutely unassailable proof, the sutures in my skull 
closed six months ahead of his . Always just that 
six months’ difference to a day. Was that accident ? 
Nobody is going to claim that, I’m sure. It was 
ordained—it was law—it had its meaning, and we 
know what that meaning was. Now what does this 
overwhelming body of evidence establish? It estab¬ 
lishes just one thing, and that thing it establishes 
beyond any peradventure whatever. Friends, we 
would not have it known for the world, and I must 
beg you to keep it strictly to yourselves, but the 
truth is, we are no more twins than you are.” 

The two old ladies were stunned, paralyzed— 
petrified, one may almost say—and could only sit 
and gaze vacantly at each other for some moments; 
then Aunt Betsy Hale said impressively: 

‘‘There’s no getting around proof like that. I 
do believe it’s the most amazing thing I ever heard 
of.” She sat silent a moment or two and breathing 
hard with excitement, then she looked up and sur¬ 
veyed the strangers steadfastly a little while, and 
added: “Well, it does beat me, but I would have 
took you for twins anywhere.” 

“So would I, so would I,” said Aunt Patsy with 
the emphasis of a certainty that is not impaired by 
any shade of doubt. 


245 


MARK TWAIN 

“ Anybody would—anybody in the world, I don’t 
care who he is,” said Aunt Betsy with decision. 

“You won’t tell,” said Luigi, appealingly. 

“Oh, dear, no!” answered both ladies promptly, 
“you can trust us, don’t you be afraid.” 

“That is good of you, and kind. Never let on; 
treat us always as if we were twins.” 

“You can depend on us,” said Aunt Betsy, “but 
it won’t be easy, because now that I know you ain’t 
you don’t seem so.” 

Luigi muttered to himself with satisfaction: 
“That swindle has gone through without change of 
cars.” 

It was not very kind of him to load the poor 
things up with a secret like that, which would be 
always flying to their tongues’ ends every time they 
heard any one speak of the strangers as twins, and 
would become harder and harder to hang on to with 
every recurrence of the temptation to tell it, while 
the torture of retaining it would increase with every 
new strain that was applied; but he never thought 
of that, and probably would not have worried much 
about it if he had. 

A visitor was announced—some one to see the 
twins. They withdrew to the parlor, and the two 
old ladies began to discuss with interest the strange 
things which they had been listening to. When 
they had finished the matter to their satisfaction, 
and Aunt Betsy rose to go, she stopped to ask a 
question: 

“How does things come on between Roweny and 
Tom Driscoll?” 

346 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

“Well, about the same. He writes tolerable 
often, and she answers tolerable seldom.” 

“Where is he?” 

“In St. Louis, I believe, though he’s such a gad¬ 
about that a body can’t be very certain of him, I 
reckon.” 

“Don’t Roweny know?” 

“Oh, yes, like enough. I haven’t asked her lately.” 

“Do you know how him and the Judge are get¬ 
ting along now?” 

“First rate, I believe. Mrs. Pratt says so; and 
being right in the house, and sister to the one and 
aunt to t’other, of course she ought to know. She 
says the Judge is real fond of him when he’s away; 
but frets when he’s around and is vexed with his 
ways, and not sorry to have him go again. He has 
been gone three weeks this time—a pleasant thing 
for both of them, I reckon.” 

“Tern’s ruther harum-scarum, but there ain’t 
anything bad in him, I guess.” 

“Oh, no, he’s just young, that’s all. Still, 
twenty-three is old, in one way. A young man 
ought to be earning his living by that time. If 
Tom were doing that, or was even trying to do it, 
the Judge would be a heap better satisfied with him. 
Tom’s always going to begin, but somehow he can’t 
seem to find just the opening he likes.” 

“Well, now, it’s partly the Judge’s own fault. 
Promising the boy his property wasn’t the way h 
set him to earning a fortune of his own. But what 
do you think—is Roweny beginning to lean any 
toward him, or ain’t she?” 

247 


MARK TWAIN 


Aunt Patsy had a secret in her bosom; she 
wanted to keep it there, but nature was too strong 
for her. She drew Aunt Betsy aside, and said in 
her most confidential and mysterious manner: 

“Don’t you breathe a syllable to a soul—I’m 
going to tell you something. In my opinion Tom 
Driscoll’s chances were considerable better yester¬ 
day than they are to-day.” 

“Patsy Cooper, what do you mean?” 

“It’s so, as sure as you’re bom. I wish you 
could ’a’ been at breakfast and seen for yourself.”, 

“You don’t mean it!” 

“Well, if I’m any judge, there’s a leaning— 
there’s a leaning, sure.” 

“My land! Which one of ’em is it?” 

“I can’t say for certain, but I think it’s the 
youngest one—Anjy.” 

Then there were handshakings, and congratula¬ 
tions, and hopes, and so on, and the old ladies 
parted, perfectly happy—the one in knowing some¬ 
thing which the rest of the town didn’t, and the 
other in having been the sole person able to furnish 
that knowledge. 

The visitor who had called to see the twins was 
the Rev. Mr. Hotchkiss, pastor of the Baptist 
church. At the reception Angelo had told him he 
had lately experienced a change in his religious 
views, and was now desirous of becoming a Baptist, 
and would immediately join Mr. Hotchkiss’s church. 
There was no time to say more, and the brief talk 
ended at that point. The minister was much grati¬ 
fied, and had dropped in for a moment now, to 
248 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 


invite the twins to attend his Bible class at eight 
that evening. Angelo accepted, and was expecting 
Luigi to decline, but he did not, because he knew 
that the Bible class and the Free-thinkers met in the 
same room, and he wanted to treat his brother to 
the embarrassment of being caught in free-thinking 
company. 

17 


CHAPTER V 


[A long and vigorous quarrel follows, between the twins. And 
there is plenty to quarrel about, for Angelo was always seeking 
truth, and this obliged him to change and improve his religion 
with frequency, which wearied Luigi, and annoyed him too; 
for he had to be present at each new enlistment—which placed 
him in the false position of seeming to indorse and approve his 
brother’s fickleness; moreover, he had to go to Angelo’s pro¬ 
hibition meetings, and he hated them. On the other hand, 
when it was his week to command the legs he gave Angelo just 
cause of complaint, for he took him to circuses and horse-races 
and fandangoes, exposing him to all sorts of censure and criticism; 
and he drank, too; and whatever he drank went to Angelo’s 
head instead of his own and made him act disgracefully. When 
the evening was come, the two attended the Free-thinkers’ meet¬ 
ing, where Angelo was sad 4 and silent; then came the Bible 
class and looked upon him coldly, finding him in such company. 
Then they went to Wilson’s house and Chapter XI of Pudd’nhead 
Wilson follows, which tells of the girl seen in Tom Driscoll’s 
room; and closes with the kicking of Tom by Luigi at the anti¬ 
temperance mass-meeting of the Sons of Liberty; with the 
addition of some account of Roxy’s adventures as a chamber¬ 
maid on a Mississippi boat. Her exchange of the children had 
been flippantly and farcically described in an earlier chapter.] 

N EXT morning all the town was a-buzz with great 
news; Pudd’nhead Wilson had a law case! The 
public astonishment was so great and the public curi¬ 
osity so intense, that when the justice of the peace 
opened his court, the place was packed with people, 
and even the windows were full. Everybody was 

25 ° 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

flushed and perspiring; the summer heat was almost 
unendurable. 

Tom Driscoll had brought a charge of assault and 
battery against the twins. Robert Allen was re¬ 
tained by Driscoll, David Wilson by the defense. 
Tom, his native cheerfulness unannihilated by his 
back-breaking and bone-bruising passage across the 
massed heads of the Sons of Liberty the previous 
night, laughed his little customary laugh, and said 
to Wilson: 

“I’ve kept my promise, you see; I’m throwing 
my business your way. Sooner than I was expect¬ 
ing, too.” 

“It’s very good of you—particularly if you 
mean to keep it up.” 

“Well, I can’t tell about that yet. But we’ll see. 
If I find you deserve it I’ll take you under my pro¬ 
tection and make your fame and fortune for you.” 

“I’ll try to deserve it, Tom.” 

A jury was sworn in; then Mr. Allen said: 

“We will detain your honor but a moment with 
this case. It is not one where any doubt of the fact 
of the assault can enter in. These gentlemen—the 
accused—kicked my client at the Market Hall last 
night; they kicked him with violence; with extraor¬ 
dinary violence; with even unprecedented violence, 
I may say; insomuch that he was lifted entirely oft 
his feet and discharged into the midst of the audi¬ 
ence. We can prove this by four hundred wit¬ 
nesses—we shall call but three. Mr. Harkness will 
take the stand.” 

Mr. Harkness, being sworn, testified that he was 

251 


MARK TWAIN 


chairman upon the occasion mentioned; that he was 
close at hand and saw the defendants in this action 
kick the plaintiff into the air and saw him descend 
among the audience. 

4 ‘Take the witness,” said Allen. 

“Mr. Harkness,” said Wilson, “you say you 
saw these gentlemen, my clients, kick the plaintiff. 
Are you sure—and please remember that you are 
on oath—are you perfectly sure that you saw both 
of them kick him, or only one? Now be careful.” 

A bewildered look began to spread itself over the 
witness’s face. He hesitated, stammered, but got 
out nothing. His eyes wandered to the twins and 
fixed themselves there with a vacant gaze. 

“Please answer, Mr. Harkness, you are keeping 
the court waiting. It is a very simple question.” 

Counsel for the prosecution broke in with impa¬ 
tience : 

“Your honor, the question is an irrelevant trivial¬ 
ity. Necessarily, they both kicked him, for they 
have but the one pair of legs, and both are respon¬ 
sible for them.” 

Wilson said, sarcastically: 

“Will your honor permit this new witness to be 
sworn? He seems to possess knowledge which can 
be of the utmost value just at this moment—knowl¬ 
edge which would at once dispose of what every one 
must see is a very difficult question in this case. 
Brother . Jlen, will you take the stand?” 

“Go on with your case!” said Allen, petulantly.. 
The audience laughed, and got a warning from the 
court. 

252 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

“Now, Mr. Harkness,” said Wilson, insinuat¬ 
ingly, “we shall have to insist upon an answer to 
that question.” 

“I—er—well, of course, I do not absolutely 
know, but in my opinion—” 

“Never mind your opinion, sir—answer the 
question.” 

“I—why, I can't answer it.” 

“That will do, Mr. Harkness. Stand down.” 

The audience tittered, and the discomfited witness 
retired in a state of great embarrassment. 

Mr. Wakeman took the stand and swore that he 
saw the twins kick the plaintiff off the platform. 
The defense took the witness. 

“Mr. Wakeman, you have sworn that you saw 
these gentlemen kick the plaintiff. Do I understand 
you to swear that you saw them both do it?” 

“Yes, sir,”—with decision. 

“How do you know that both did it?” 

“Because I saw them do it.” 

The audience laughed, and got another warning 
from the court. 

“But by what means do you know that both, and 
not one, did it?” 

“Well, in the first place, the insult was given to 
both of them equally, for they were called a pair of 
scissors. Of course they would both want to resent 
it, and so—” 

“Wait! You are theorizing now. Stick to facts 
—counsel will attend to the arguments. Go on.” 

“Well, they both went over there —that I saw.” 

“Very good. Go on.” 


253 


MARK TWAIN 


“And they both kicked him—I swear to it.” 

“Mr. Wakeman, was Count Luigi, here, willing 
to join the Sons of Liberty last night?” 

“Yes, sir, he was. He did join, too, and drank 
a glass or two of whisky, like a man.” 

“Was his brother willing to join?” 

“No, sir, he wasn’t. He is a teetotaler, and was 
elected through a mistake.” 

“Was he given a glass of whisky?” 

“Yes, sir, but of course that was another mis¬ 
take, and not intentional. He wouldn’t drink it. 
He set it down.” A slight pause, then he added, 
casually and quite simply: “The plaintiff reached 
for it and hogged it.” 

There was a fine outburst of laughter, but as the 
justice was caught out himself, his reprimand was 
not very vigorous. 

Mr. Allen jumped up and exclaimed: “I protest 
against these foolish irrelevancies. What have they 
to do with the case?” 

Wilson said: “Calm yourself, brother, it was 
only an experiment. Now, Mr. Wakeman, if one 
of these gentlemen chooses to join an association 
and the other doesn’t; and if one of them enjoys 
whisky and the other doesn’t, but sets it aside and 
leaves it unprotected” (titter from the audience), 
“it seems to show that they have independent 
minds, and tastes, and preferences, and that one 
of them is able to approve of a thing at the very 
moment that the other is heartily disapproving of 
it. Doesn’t it seem so to you?” 

“Certainly it does. It’s perfectly plain.” 

254 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

“Now, then, it might be—I only say it might 
be—that one of these brothers wanted to kick the 
plaintiff last night, and that the other didn’t want 
that humiliating punishment inflicted upon him in 
that public way and before all those people. Isn’t 
that possible ?” 

“Of course it is. It’s more than possible. I 
don’t believe the blond one would kick anybody. 
It was the other one that—” 

“Silence!” shouted the plaintiff’s counsel, and 
went on with an angry sentence which was lost in 
the wave of laughter that swept the house. 

“That will do, Mr. Wakeman,” said Wilson, 
“you may stand down.” 

The third witness was called. He had seen the 
twins kick the plaintiff. Mr. Wilson took the 
witness. 

“Mr. Rogers, you say you saw these accused 
gentlemen kick the plaintiff?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Both of them?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Which of them kicked him first?” 

“Why—they—they both kicked him at the same 
time.” 

•“Are you perfectly sure of that?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“What makes you sure of it?” 

“Why, I stood right behind them, and saw them 
do it,” 

“How many kicks were delivered?” 

“Only one.” 


255 


MARK TWAIN 

“If two men kick, the result should be two kicks, 
shouldn’t it?” 

“Why—why—yes, as a rule.” 

“Then what do you think went with the other 
kick?” 

“I— we n—the fact is, I wasn’t thinking of two 
being necessary, this time.” 

“What do you think now?” 

“Well, I—I’m sure I don’t quite know what to 
think, but I reckon that one of them did half of the 
kick and the other one did the other half.” 

Somebody in the crowd sung out: “It’s the first 
sane thing that any of them has said.” 

The audience applauded. The judge said: “Si¬ 
lence! or I will clear the court.” 

Mr. Allen looked pleased, but Wilson did not 
seem disturbed. He said: 

“Mr. Rogers, you have favored us with what you 
think and what you reckon, but as thinking and 
reckoning are not evidence, I will now give you a 
chance to come out with something positive, one 
way or the other, and shall require you to produce 
it. I will ask the accused to stand up and repeat 
the phenomenal kick of last night. ’’ The twins stood 
up. “Now, Mr. Rogers, please stand behind them.” 

A Voice: “No, stand in front!” (Laughter. 
Silenced by the court.) Another Voice: “No, give 
Tommy another highst!” (Laughter. Sharply re¬ 
buked by the court.) 

“Now, then, Mr. Rogers, two kicks shall be de¬ 
livered, one after the other, and I give you my 
word that at least one of the two shall be delivered 
256 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

by one of the twins alone, without the slightest 
assistance from his brother. Watch sharply, for you 
have got to render a decision without any if s and 
and’s in it.” Rogers bent himself behind the twins 
with his palms just above his knees, in the modern 
attitude of the catcher at a baseball match, and 
riveted his eyes on the pair of legs in front of him. 
“Are you ready, Mr. Rogers?” 

“Ready, sir.” 

“Kick!” 

The kick was launched. 

“Have you got that one classified, Mr. Rogers?” 

“Let me study a minute, sir.” 

“Take as much time as you please. Let me 
know when you are ready.” 

For as much as a minute Rogers pondered, with all 
eyes and a breathless interest fastened upon him. 
Then he gave the word: “Ready, sir.” 

“Kick!” 

The kick that followed was an exact duplicate of 
the first one. 

“Now, then, Mr. Rogers, one of those kicks was 
an individual kick, not a mutual one. You will now 
state positively which was the mutual one.” 

The witness said, with a crestfallen look: 

“I’ve got to give it up. There ain’t any man in 
the world that could tell t’other from which, sir.” 

“Do you still assert that last night’s kick was a 
mutual kick?” 

“Indeed, I don’t, sir.” 

“That will do, Mr. Rogers. If my brother Allen 
desires to address the court, your honor, very well; 
257 


MARK TWAIN 


but as far as I am concerned I am ready to let the 
case be at once delivered into the hands of this 
intelligent jury without comment.” 

Mr. Justice Robinson had been in office only two 
months, and in that short time had not had many 
cases to try, of course. He had no knowledge of 
laws and courts except what he had picked up since 
he came into office. He was a sore trouble to the 
lawyers, for his rulings were pretty eccentric some¬ 
times, and he stood by them with Roman simplicity 
and fortitude; but the people were well satisfied with 
him, for they saw that his intentions were always 
right, that he was entirely impartial, and that he 
usually made up in good sense what he lacked in 
technique, so to speak. He now perceived that 
there was likely to be a miscarriage of justice here, 
and he rose to the occasion. 

“Wait a moment, gentlemen,” he said, “it is 
plain that an assault has been committed—it is 
plain to anybody; but the way things are going, 
the guilty will certainly escape conviction. I can¬ 
not allow this. Now—” 

“But, your honor!” said Wilson, interrupting him, 
earnestly but respectfully, “you are deciding the 
case yourself, whereas the jury—” 

“Never mind the jury, Mr. Wilson; the jury will 
have a chance when there is a reasonable doubt for 
them to take hold of—which there isn’t, so far. 
There is no doubt whatever that an assault has been 
committed. The attempt to shew that both of the 
accused committed it has failed. Are they both to 
escape justice on that account? Not in this court, 
258 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

if I can prevent it. It appears to have been a mis¬ 
take to bring the charge against them as a corpora¬ 
tion; each should have been charged in his capacity 
as an individual, and—” 

“But, your honor!” said Wilson, “in fairness to 
my clients I must insist that inasmuch as the prose¬ 
cution did not separate the—” 

“No wrong will be done your clients, sir—they 
will be protected; also the public and the offended 
laws. Mr. Allen, you will amend your pleadings, 
and put one of the accused on trial at a time.” 

Wilson broke in: “But, your honor! this is 
wholly unprecedented! To imperil an accused per¬ 
son by arbitrarily altering and widening the charge 
against him in order to compass his conviction when 
the charge as originally brought promises to fail to 
convict, is a thing unheard of before.” 

“Unheard of whereV 9 

“In the courts of this or any other state.” 

The Judge said with dignity: “I am not ac¬ 
quainted with the customs of other courts, and am 
not concerned to know what they are. I am respon¬ 
sible for this court, and I cannot conscientiously 
allow my judgment to be warped and my judicial 
liberty hampered by trying to conform to the 
caprices of other courts, be they—” 

“But, your honor, the oldest and highest courts 
in Europe—” 

“This court is not run on the European plan, 
Mr. Wilson; it is not run on any plan but its own. 
It has a plan of its own; and that plan is, to find 
justice for both State and accused, no matter what 
2 59 


MARK TWAIN 


happens to be practice and custom in Europe or 
anywhere else.” (Great applause.) “Silence! It 
has not been the custom of this court to imitate 
other courts; it has not been the custom of this 
court to take shelter behind the decisions of other 
courts, and we will not begin now. We will do the 
best we can by the light that God has given us, and 
while this court continues to have His approval, it 
will remain indifferent to what other organizations 
may think of it.” (Applause.) “Gentlemen, I 
must have order!—quiet yourselves! Mr. Allen, 
you will now proceed against the prisoners one at a 
time. Go on with the case.” 

Allen was not at his ease. However, after whis¬ 
pering a moment with his client and with one or 
two other people, he rose and said: 

“Your honor, I find it to be reported and be¬ 
lieved that the accused are able to act independently 
in many ways, but that this independence does not 
extend to their legs, authority over their legs being 
vested exclusively ji the one brother during a 
specific term of days, and then passing to the other 
brother for a like term, and so on, by regular alter¬ 
nation. I could call witnesses who would prove 
that the accused had revealed to them the existence 
of this extraordinary fact, and had also made known 
which of them was in possession of the legs yester¬ 
day—and this would, of course, indicate where the 
guilt of the assault belongs—but as this would be 
mere hearsay evidence, these revelations not having 
been made under oath—” 

“Never mind about that, Mr. Allen. It may not 
260 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

all be hearsay. We shall see. It may at least help 
to put us on the right track. Call the witnesses.” 

“Then I will call Mr. John Buckstone, who is 
now present, and I beg that Mrs. Patsy Cooper may 
be sent for. Take the stand, Mr. Buckstone.” 

Buckstone took the oath, and then testified that 
on the previous evening the Count Angelo Capello 
had protested against going to the hall, and had 
called all present to witness that he was going by 
compulsion and would not go if he could help him¬ 
self. Also, that the Count Luigi had replied sharply 
that he would go, just the same, and that he, Count 
Luigi, would see to that himself. Also, that upon 
Count Angelo’s complaining about being kept on his 
legs so long, Count Luigi retorted with apparent 
surprise, “Your legs!—I like your impudence!” 

“Now we are getting at the kernel of the thing,” 
observed the Judge, with grave and earnest satisfac¬ 
tion. “It looks as if the Count Luigi was in pos¬ 
session of the battery at the time of the assault.” 

Nothing further was elicited from Mr. Buckstone 
on direct examination. Mr. Wilson took the witness. 

“Mr. Buckstone, about what time was it that that 
conversation took place?” 

“Toward nine yesterday evening, sir.” 

“Did you then proceed directly to the hall?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“How long did it take you to go there?” 

“Well, we walked; and as it was from the ex¬ 
treme edge of the town, and there was no hurry, I 
judge it took us about twenty minutes, maybe a 
trifle more.” 


261 


MARK TWAIN 

“About what hour was the kick delivered?” 

“About thirteen minutes and a half to ten.” 

“Admirable! You are a pattern witness, Mr. 
Buckstone. How did you happen to look at your 
watch at that particular moment?” 

“I always do it when I see an assault. It’s likely 
I shall be called as a witness, and it’s a good point 
to have.” 

“It would be well if others were as thoughtful. 
Was anything said, between the conversation at my 
house and the assault, upon the detail which we are 
now examining into?” 

“No, sir.” 

“If power over the mutual legs was in the pos¬ 
session of one brother at nine, and passed into the 
possession of the other one during the next thirty or 
forty minutes, do you think you could have de¬ 
tected the change?” 

“By no means!” 

“That is all, Mr. Buckstone.” 

Mrs. Patsy Cooper was called. The crowd made 
way for her, and she came smiling and bowing 
through the narrow human lane, with Betsy Hale, as 
escort and support, smiling and bowing in her wake, 
the audience breaking into welcoming cheers as the 
old favorites filed along. The Judge did not check 
this kindly demonstration of homage and affection, 
but let it run its course unrebuked. 

The old ladies stopped and shook hands with the 
twins with effusion, then gave the Judge a friendly 
nod, and bustled into the seats provided for them. 
They immediately began to deliver a volley of eager 
2 62 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

questions at the friends around them: “What is 
this thing for?” “What is that thing for?” “Who 
is that young man that’s writing at the desk? Why, 
I declare, it’s Jack Bunce! I thought he was sick.” 
“Which is the jury? Why, is that the jury? Billy 
Price and Job Turner, and Jack Lounsbury, and 
— well, I never!” “Now who would ever ’a* 
thought—” 

But they were gently called to order at this point, 
and asked not to talk in court. Their tongues fell 
silent, but the radiant interest in their faces re¬ 
mained, and their gratitude for the blessing of a 
new sensation and a novel experience still beamed 
undimmed from their eyes. Aunt Patsy stood up 
and took the oath, and Mr. Allen explained the 
point in issue, and asked her to go on now, in her 
own way, and throw as much light upon it as she 
could. She toyed with her reticule a moment or two, 
as if considering where to begin, then she said: 

“Well, the way of it is this. They are Luigi’s 
legs a week afc a time, and then they are Angelo’s, 
and he can do whatever he wants to with them.” 

“You are making a mistake, Aunt Patsy Cooper,” 
said the Judge. “You shouldn’t state that as a fact, 
because you don’t know it to be a fact.” 

“What’s the reason I don’t?” said Aunt Patsy, 
bridling a little. 

“What is the reason that you do know it?” 

“The best in the world—because they told me.” 

“That isn’t a reason.” 

“Well, for the land’s sake! Betsy Hale, do you 
hear that?” 


263 


MARK TWAIN 


11 Hear it? I should think so,” said Aunt Betsy, 
rising and facing the court. “Why, Judge, I was 
there and heard it myself. Luigi says to Angelo— 
no, it was Angelo said it to—” 

“Come, come, Mrs. Hale, pray sit down, and—” 
“Certainly, it’s all right, I’m going to sit down 
presently, but not until I’ve—” 

“But you must sit down!” 

“Must! Well, upon my word if things ain’t 
getting to a pretty pass when—” 

The house broke into laughter, but was promptly 
brought to order, and meantime Mr. Allen persuaded 
the old lady to take her seat. Aunt Patsy continued: 

“Yes, they told me that, and I know it’s true. 
They’re Luigi’s legs this week, but—” 

“Ah, they told you that, did they?” said the 
Justice, w T ith interest. 

“Well, no, I don’t know that they told me, but 
that’s neither here nor there. I know, without that, 
that at dinner yesterday, Angelo was as tired as a 
dog, and yet Luigi wouldn’t lend him the legs to go 
up-stairs and take a nap with.” 

“Did he ask for them?” 

“Let me see—it seems to me somehow, that— 
that—Aunt Betsy, do you remember whether he—” 
“Never mind about what Aunt Betsy remembers 
—she is not a witness; we only want to know what 
you remember yourself,” said the Judge. 

“Well, it does seem to me that you are most 
cantankerously particular about a little thing, Sim 
Robinson. Why, when I can’t remember a thing 
myself, I always—” 


264 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

“Ah, please go on!” 

“Now how can she when you keep fussing at her 
all the time?” said Aunt Betsy. . “Why, with a 
person pecking at me that way, I should get that 
fuzzled and fuddled that—” 

She was on her feet again, but Allen coaxed her 
into her seat once more, while the court squelched 
the mirth of the house. Then the Judge said: 

“Madam, do you know — do you absolutely 
know , independently of anything these gentlemen 
have told you—that the power over their legs passes 
from the one to the other regularly every week?” 

“Regularly? Bless your heart, regularly ain't 
any name for the exactness of it! All the big cities 
in Europe used to set the clocks by it.” (Laughter, 
suppressed by the court) 

“How do you knowf That is the question. 
Please answer it plainly and squarely.” 

“Don’t you talk to me like that, Sim Robinson— 
I won’t have it. How do I know, indeed! How 
do you know what you know? Because somebody 
told you. You didn’t invent it out of your own 
head, did you? Why, these twins are the truth ful- 
est people in the world; and I don’t think it be¬ 
comes you to sit up there and throw slurs at them 
when they haven’t been doing anything to you. 
And they are orphans besides—both of them. 
All—” 

But Aunt Betsy was up again now, and both old 
ladies were talking at once and with all their might; 
but as the house was weltering in a storm of laughter, 
and the Judge was hammering his desk with an iron 

18 265 


MARK TWAIN 


paper-weight, one could only see them talk, not 
hear them. At last, when quiet was restored, the 
court said: 

“Let the ladies retire.” 

“But, your honor, I have the right, in the interest 
of my clients, to cross-exam—” 

“You’ll not need to exercise it, Mr. Wilson— 
the evidence is thrown out.” 

“Thrown out!” said Aunt Patsy, ruffled; “and 
what’s it thrown out for, I’d like to know.” 

“And so would I, Patsy Cooper. It seems to 
me that if we can save these poor persecuted stran¬ 
gers, it is our bounden duty to stand up here and talk 
for them till—” 

“There, there, there, do sit down!” 

It cost some trouble and a good deal of coaxing, 
but they were got into their seats at last. The trial 
was soon ended now. The twins themselves became 
witnesses in their own defense. They established 
the fact, upon oath, that the leg-power passed from 
one to the other every Saturday night at twelve 
o’clock sharp. But on cross-examination their 
counsel would not allow them to tell whose week of 
power the current week was. The Judge insisted 
upon their answering, and proposed to compel them, 
but even the prosecution took fright and came to 
the rescue then, and helped stay the sturdy jurist’s 
revolutionary hand. So the case had to go to the 
jury with that important point hanging in the air. 
They were out an hour and brought in this verdict: 

“We the jury do find: i, that an assault was 
committed, as charged; 2, that it was committed by 
266 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

one of the persons accused, he having been seen to 
do it by several credible witnesses; 3, but that his 
identity is so merged in his brother’s that we have 
not been able to tell which was him. We cannot 
convict both, for only one is guilty. We cannot 
acquit both, for only one is innocent. Our verdict 
is that justice has been defeated by the dispensation 
of God, and ask to be discharged from further 
duty.” 

This was read aloud in court and brought out a 
burst of hearty applause. The old ladies made a 
spring at the twins, to shake and congratulate, but 
were gently disengaged by Mr. Wilson and softly 
crowded back into their places. 

The Judge rose in his little tribune, laid aside his 
silver-bowed spectacles, roached his gray hair up 
with his fingers, and said, with dignity and solemnity, 
and even with a certain pathos: 

“In all my experience on the bench, I have not 
seen justice bow her head in shame in this court 
until this day. You little realize what far-reaching 
harm has just been wrought here under the fickle 
forms of law. Imitation is the bane of courts—I 
thank God that this one is free from the contamina¬ 
tion of that vice—and in no long time you will see 
the fatal work of this hour seized upon by profligate 
so-called guardians of justice in all the wide circum¬ 
stance of this planet and perpetuated in their perni¬ 
cious decisions. I wash my hands of this iniquity. 
I would have compelled these culprits to expose 
their guilt, but support failed me where I had most 
right to expect aid and encouragement. And I was? 

267 


MARK TWAIN 


confronted by a law made in the interest of crime, 
which protects the criminal from testifying against 
himself. Yet I had precedents of my own whereby 
I had set aside that law on two different occasions 
and thus succeeded in convicting criminals to whose 
crimes there were no witnesses but themselves. 
What have you accomplished this day? Do you 
realize it? You have set adrift, unadmonished, in 
this community, two men endowed with an awful 
and mysterious gift, a hidden and grisly power for 
evil—a power by which each in his turn may com¬ 
mit crime after crime of the most heinous character, 
and no man be able to tell which is the guilty or 
which the innocent party in any case of them all. 
Look to your homes—look to your property—look 
to your lives—for you have need! 

>' 4 ‘Prisoners at the bar, stand up. Through sup¬ 
pression of evidence, a jury of your—our—country¬ 
men have been obliged to [deliver a verdict con¬ 
cerning your case which stinks to heaven with the 
rankness of its injustice. By its terms you, the 
guilty one, go free with the innocent. Depart in 
peace, and come no more! The costs devolve upon 
the outraged plaintiff—another iniquity. The court 
stands dissolved.” 

jjp Almost everybody crowded forward to overwhelm 
the twins and their counsel with congratulations; 
but presently the two old aunties dug the duplicates 
out and bore them away in triumph through the 
hurrahing crowd, while lots of new friends carried 
Pudd’nhead Wilson off tavemward to feast him 
and “wet down” his great and victorious entry into 
268 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 


the legal arena. To Wilson, so long familiar with 
neglect and depreciation, this strange new incense 
of popularity and admiration was as a fragrance 
blown from the fields of paradise. A happy man 
was Wilson. 


CHAPTER VI 


A deputation came in the evening and conferred upon Wilson 
the welcome honor of a nomination for mayor; for the village 
has just been converted into a city by charter. Tom skulks 
out of challenging the twins. Judge Driscoll thereupon chal¬ 
lenges JAngelo (accused by Tom of doing the kicking); he de¬ 
clines, but Luigi accepts in his place against Angelo’s timid 
protest. 

I T was late Saturday night—nearing eleven. 

The Judge and his second found the rest of 
the war party at the further end of the vacant 
ground, near the haunted house. Pudd’nhead Wil¬ 
son advanced to meet them, and said anxiously: 
f/.“I must say a word in behalf of my principars 
proxy, Count Luigi, to whom you have kindly 
granted the privilege of fighting my principal’s 
battle for him. It is growing late, and Count Luigi 
is in great trouble lest midnight shall strike before 
the finish.” 

“It is another testimony,” said Howard, approv¬ 
ingly. “That young man is fine all through. He 
wishes to save his brother the sorrow of fighting on 
the Sabbath, and he is right; it is the right and 
manly feeling and does him credit. We will make 
all possible haste.” 

Wilson said: “There is also another reason—a 
consideration, in fact, which deeply concerns Count 
270 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

Luigi himself. These twins have command of their 
mutual legs turn about. Count Luigi is in command 
now; but at midnight, possession will pass to my 
principal, Count Angelo, and—well, you can foresee 
what will happen. He will march straight off the 
field, and carry Luigi with him.” 

“Why! sure enough!” cried the Judge, “we have 
heard something about that extraordinary law of 
their being, already—nothing very definite, it is 
true, as regards dates and durations of power, but I 
see it is definite enough as regards to-night. Of 
course we must give Luigi every chance. Omit all 
the ceremonial possible, gentlemen, and place us in 
position.” 

The seconds at once tossed up a coin; Howard 
won the choice. He placed the Judge sixty feet 
from the haunted house and facing it; Wilson placed 
the twins within fifteen feet of the house and facing 
the Judge—necessarily. The pistol-case was opened 
and the long slim tubes taken out; when the moon- 
fight glinted from them a shiver went through 
Angelo. The doctor was a fool, but a thoroughly 
well-meaning one, with a kind heart and a sincere 
disposition to oblige, but along with it an absence of 
tact which often hurt its effectiveness. He brought 
his box of lint and bandages, and asked Angelo to 
feel and see how soft and comfortable they were. 
Angelo’s head fell over against Luigi’s in a faint, 
and precious time was lost in bringing him to; 
which provoked Luigi into expressing his mind to 
the doctor with a good deal of vigor and frankness. 
After Angelo came to he was still so weak that 
271 


MARK TWAIN 

Luigi was obliged to drink a stiff horn of brandy to 
brace him up. 

The seconds now stepped at once to their posts, half¬ 
way between the combatants, one of them on each 
side of the line of fire. Wilson was to count, very 
deliberately, “One—two—three—fire!—stop!” and 
the duelists could bang away at any time they chose 
during that recitation, but not after the last word. 
Angelo grew very nervous when he saw Wilson’s hand 
rising slowly into the air as a sign to make ready, 
and he leaned his head against Luigi’s and said: 

“Oh, please take me away from here, I can’t 
stay, I know I can’t!” 

“What in the world are you doing? Straighten 
up! What’s the matter with you?— you're in no 
danger—nobody’s going to shoot at you. Straighten 
up, I tell you!” 

Angelo obeyed, just in time to hear: 

“One—!” 

“Bang!” Just one report, and a little tuft of 
white hair floated slowly to the Judge’s feet in the 
moonlight. The Judge did not swerve; he still 
stood erect and motionless, like a statue, with his 
pistol-arm hanging straight down at his side. He 
was reserving his fire. 

“Two—!” 

“Three—!” 

“Fire—!” 

Up came the pistol-arm instantly—Angelo dodged 
with the report. He said “Ouch!” and fainted 
again. 

The doctor examined and bandaged the wound.' 

272 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

It was of no consequence, he said—bullet through 
fleshy part of arm—no bones broken—the gentle¬ 
man was still able to fight—let the duel proceed. 

Next time Angelo jumped just as Luigi fired, 
which disordered his aim and caused him to cut a 
chip out of Howard's ear. The Judge took his time 
again, and when he fired Angelo jumped and got a 
knuckle skinned. The doctor inspected and dressed 
the wounds. Angelo now spoke out and said he 
was content with the satisfaction he had got, and if 
the Judge—but Luigi shut him roughly up, and 
asked him not to make an ass of himself; adding: 

“And I want you to stop dodging. You take a 
great deal too prominent a part in this thing for a 
person who has got nothing to do with it. You 
should remember that you are here only by courtesy, 
and are without official recognition; officially you are 
not here at all; officially you do not even exist. 
To all intents and purposes you are absent from this 
place, and you ought for your own modesty's sake 
to reflect that it cannot become a person who is not 
present here to be taking this sort of public and 
indecent prominence in a matter in which he is 
not in the slightest degree concerned. Now, don't 
dodge again; the bullets are not for you, they are 
for me; if I want them dodged I will attend to it 
myself. I never saw a person act so " 

Angelo saw the reasonableness of what his brother 
had said, and he did try to reform, but it was of no 
use; both pistols went off at the same instant, and 
he jumped once more; he got a sharp scrape along 
his cheek from the Judge’s bullet, and so deflected 

273 


MARK TWAIN 


Luigi's aim that his ball went wide and chipped a 
flake of skin from Pudd’nhead Wilson's chin. The 
doctor attended to the wounded. 

By the terms, the duel was over. But Luigi was 
entirely out of patience, and begged for one more 
exchange of shots, insisting that he had had no fair 
chance, on account of his brother’s indelicate be¬ 
havior. Howard was opposed to granting so un¬ 
usual a privilege, but the Judge took Luigi’s part, 
and added that indeed he himself might fairly be con¬ 
sidered entitled to another trial, because although 
the proxy on the other side was in no way to blame 
for his (the Judge’s) humiliatingly resultless work, 
the gentleman with whom he was fighting this duel 
was to blame for it, since if he had played no ad¬ 
vantages and had held his head still, his proxy 
would have been disposed of early. He added: 

* 4 Count Luigi’s request for another exchange is 
another proof that he is a brave and chivalrous 
gentleman, and I beg that the courtesy he asks may 
be accorded him.” 

‘‘I thank you most sincerely for this generosity, 
Judge Driscoll,” said Luigi, with a polite bow, and 
moving to his place. Then he added—to Angelo, 
“Now hold your grip, hold your grip , I tell you, and 
I’ll land him sure!” 

The men stood erect, their pistol-arms at their 
sides, the two seconds stood at their official posts, 
the doctor stood five paces in Wilson’s rear with his 
instruments and bandages in his hands. The deep 
stillness, the peaceful moonlight, the motionless 
figures, made an impressive picture and the impend- 
274 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

ing fatal possibilities augmented this impressiveness 
to solemnity. Wilson’s hand began to rise—slowly 
—slowly—higher—still higher—in another moment: 

“Boom !”—the first stroke of midnight swung up 
out of the distance; Angelo was off like a deer! 

‘‘Oh, you unspeakable traitor!” wailed his brother, 
as they went soaring over the fence. 

The others stood astonished and gazing; and so 
stood, watching that strange spectacle until dis¬ 
tance dissolved it and swept it from their view. 
Then they rubbed their eyes like people waking out 
of a dream. 

“Well, I’ve never seen anything like that be¬ 
fore!” said the Judge. “Wilson, I am going to 
confess now, that I wasn’t quite able to believe in 
that leg business, and had a suspicion that it was a 
put-up convenience between those twins; and when 
Count Angelo fainted I thought I saw the whole 
scheme—thought it was pretext No. i, and would 
be followed by others till twelve o’clock should 
arrive, and Luigi would get off with all the credit of 
seeming to want to fight and yet not have to fight, 
after all. But I was mistaken. His pluck proved 
it. He’s a brave fellow and did want to fight.” 

“There isn’t any doubt about that,” said Howard, 
and added, in a grieved tone, “but what an un¬ 
worthy sort of Christian that Angelo is—I hope and 
believe there are not many like him. It is not right 
to engage in a duel on the Sabbath—I could not ap¬ 
prove of that myself; but to finish one that has been 
begun—that is a duty, let the day be'what it may.” 

They strolled along, still wondering, still talking. 

.275 


MARK TWAIN 


“It is a curious circumstance,” remarked the 
surgeon, halting Wilson a moment to paste some 
more court-plaster on his chin, which had gone to 
leaking blood again, “that in this duel neither of 
the parties who handled the pistols lost blood, while 
nearly all the persons present in the mere capacity 
of guests got hit. I have not heard of such a thing 
before. Don’t you think it unusual?” 

S “Yes,” said the Judge, “it has struck me as 
peculiar. Peculiar and unfortunate. I was annoyed 
at it, all the time. In the case of Angelo it made 
no great difference, because he was in a measure 
concerned, though not officially; but it troubled me 
to see the seconds compromised, and yet I knew no 
way to mend the matter.” 

“There was no way to mend it,” said Howard, 
whose ear was being readjusted now by the doctor; 
“the code fixes our place, and it would not have 
been lawful to change it. If we could have stood at 
your side, or behind you, or in front of you, it— 
but it would not have been legitimate and the other 
parties would have had a just right to complain of 
our trying to protect ourselves from danger; in¬ 
fractions of the code are certainly not permissible in 
any case whatever.” 

Wilson offered no remarks. It seemed to'him 
that there was very little place here for so much 
solemnity, but he judged that if a duel where nobody 
was in danger or got crippled but the seconds and 
the outsiders had nothing ridiculous about it for 
these gentlemen, his pointing out that feature would 
probably not help them to see it 
276 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

He invited them in to take a nightcap, and 
Howard and the Judge accepted, but the doctor 
said he would have to go and see how Angelo’s 
principal wound was getting on. 

[It was now Sunday, and in the afternoon Angelo was to be 
received into the Baptist communion by immersion—a doubtful 
prospect, the doctor feared.] 


CHAPTER VII 


W HEN the doctor arrived at Aunt Patsy 
Cooper’s house, he found the lights going 
and everybody up and dressed and in a great 
state of solicitude and excitement. The twins were 
stretched on a sofa in the sitting-room, Aunt Patsy 
was fussing at Angelo’s arm, Nancy was flying 
around under her commands, the two young boys 
were trying to keep out of the way and always 
getting in it, in order to see and wonder, Rowena 
stood apart, helpless with apprehension and emo¬ 
tion, and Luigi was growling in unappeasable fury 
over Angelo’s shameful flight. 

As has been reported before, the doctor was a 
fool—a kind-hearted and well-meaning one, but 
with no tact; and as he was by long odds the most 
learned physician in the town, and was quite well 
aw T are of it, and could talk his learning with ease 
and precision, and liked to show off when he had an 
audience, he was sometimes tempted into revealing 
more of a case than was good for the patient. 

He examined Angelo’s wound, and was really 
minded to say nothing for once; but Aunt Patsy 
was so anxious and so pressing that he allowed his 
caution to be overcome, and proceeded to empty 
himself as follows, with scientific relish; 

278 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

“Without going too much into detail, madam— 
for you would probably not understand it, anyway 
—1 concede that great care is going to be necessary 
here; otherwise exudation of the esophagus is 
nearly sure to ensue, and this will be followed by 
ossification and extradition of the maxillaris superi- 
oris, which must decompose the granular surfaces of 
the great infusorial ganglionic system, thus obstruct¬ 
ing the action of the posterior varioloid arteries, and 
precipitating compound strangulated sorosis of the 
valvular tissues, and ending unavoidably in the dis¬ 
persion and combustion of the marsupial fluxes and 
the consequent embrocation of the bicuspid populo 
redax referendum rotulorum.” 

A miserable silence followed. Aunt Patsy’s heart 
sank, the pallor of despair invaded her face, she was 
not able to speak; poor Rowena wrung her hands in 
privacy and silence, and said to herself in the bitter¬ 
ness of her young grief, “There is no hope—it is 
plain there is no hope”; the good-hearted negro 
wench, Nancy, paled to chocolate, then to orange, 
then to amber, and thought to herself with yearning 
sympathy and sorrow, “Po’ thing, he ain’ gwyne 
to las’ throo de half o’ dat”; small Henry choked 
up, and turned his head away to hide his rising 
tears, and his brother Joe said to himself, with a 
sense of loss, “The baptizing’s busted, that’s sure.” 
Luigi was the only person who had any heart to 
speak. He said, a little bit sharply, to the doctor: 

“Well, well, there’s nothing to be gained by 
wasting precious time; give him a barrel of pills 
I’ll take them for him.” 


279 


MARK TWAIN 


; “You?” asked the doctor. 

“Yes. Did you suppose he was going to take 
them himself?” 

“Why, of course.” 

“Well, it’s a mistake. He never took a dose of 
medicine in his life. He can’t.” 

“Well, upon my word, it’s the most extraordi¬ 
nary thing I ever heard of!” 

“Oh,” said Aunt Patsy, as pleased as a mother 
whose child is being admired and wondered at, 
“you’ll find that there’s more about them that’s 
wonderful than their just being made in the image 
of God like the rest of His creatures, now you can 
depend on that, I tell you,” and she wagged’ her 
complacent head like one who could reveal marvel¬ 
ous things if she chose. 

The boy Joe began: 

“Why, ma, they ain't made in the im—” 

“You shut up, and wait till you’re asked, Joe. 
I’ll let you know when I want help. Are you look¬ 
ing for something, doctor?” 

The doctor asked for a few sheets of paper and a 
pen, and said he would write a prescription; which 
he did. It was one of Galen’s; in fact, it was 
Galen’s favorite, and had been slaying people for 
sixteen thousand years. Galen used it for every¬ 
thing, applied it to everything, said it would remove 
everything, from warts all the way through to lungs 
—and it generally did. Galen was still the only 
medical authority recognized in Missouri; his prac¬ 
tice was the only practice known to the Missouri 
doctors, and his prescriptions were the only ammu- 
280 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

nition they carried when they went out for game. 
By and by Dr. Claypool laid down his pen and read 
the result of his labors aloud, carefully and deliber¬ 
ately, for this battery must be constructed on the 
premises by the family, and mistakes could occur; 
for he wrote a doctor’s hand—the hand which from 
the beginning of time has been so disastrous to the 
apothecary and so profitable to the undertaker: 

, “Take of afarabocca, henbane, corpobalsamum, 
each two drams and a half: of cloves, opium, 
myrrh, cyperus, each two drams; of opobalsamum, 
Indian leaf, cinnamon, zedoary, ginger, coftus, 
coral, cassia, euphorbium, gum tragacanth, frankin¬ 
cense, styrax calamita, Celtic, nard, spignel, hart- 
wort, mustard, saxifrage, dill, anise, each one dram; 
of xylaloes, rheum ponticum, alipta, moschata, 
castor, spikenard, galangals, opoponax, anacardium, 
mastich, brimstone, peony, eringo, pulp of dates, 
red and white hermodactyls, roses, thyme, acorns, 
pennyroyal, gentian, the bark of the root of man¬ 
drake, germander, valerian, bishop’s - weed, bay- 
berries, long and white pepper, xylobalsamum, 
camabadium, macedonian, parsley seeds, lovage, the 
seeds of rue, and sinon, of each a dram and a half; 
of pure gold, pure silver, pearls not perforated, the 
blatta byzantina, the bone of the stag’s heart, of 
each the quantity of fourteen grains of wheat; of 
sapphire, emerald and jasper stones, each one dram; 
of hazel-nuts, two drams; of pellitory of Spain, shav¬ 
ings of ivory, calamus odoratus, each the quantity 
of twenty-nine grains of wheat; of honey or sugar 
a sufficient quantity. Boil down and skim off.” 

19 281 


MARK TWAIN 


“There,” he said, “that will fix the patient; give 
his brother a dipperful every three-quarters of an 
hour—” 

—“while he survives,” muttered Lugui— 

—“and see that the room is kept wholesomely 
hot, and the doors and windows closed tight. Keep 
Count Angelo nicely covered up with six or seven 
blankets, and when he is thirsty—which will be 
frequently—-moisten a rag in the vapor of the tea¬ 
kettle and let his brother suck it. When he is 
hungry—which will also be frequently—he must 
not be humored oftener than every seven or eight 
hours; then toast part of a cracker until it begins to 
brown, and give it to his brother.” 

“That is all very well, as far as Angelo is con¬ 
cerned,” said Luigi, “but what am I to eat?” 

“I do not see that there is anything the matter 
with you,” the doctor answered, “you may, of 
course, eat what you please.” 

“And also drink what I please, I suppose?” 

“Oh, certainly—at present. When the violent 
and continuous perspiring has reduced your strength, 
I shall have to reduce your diet, of course, and also 
bleed you, but there is no occasion for that yet 
awhile.” He turned to Aunt Patsy and said: “He 
must be put to bed, and sat up with, and tended 
with the greatest care, and not allowed to stir for 
several days and nights.” 

“For one, I’m sacredly thankful for that,” said 
Luigi, “it postpones the funeral—I’m not to be 
drowned to-day, anyhow.” 

Angelo said quietly to the doctor: 

282 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

“I will cheerfully submit to all your require- 
ments, sir, up to two o’clock this afternoon, and 
will resume them after three, but cannot be confined 
to the house during that intermediate hour.” 

“Why, may I ask?” 

“Because I have entered the Baptist communion, 
and by appointment am to be baptized in the river 
at that hour.” 

“Oh, insanity!—it cannot be allowed!” 

Angelo answered with placid firmness: 

“Nothing shall prevent it, if I am alive.” 

“Why, consider, my dear sir, in your condition 
it might prove fatal.” 

A tender and ecstatic smile beamed from Angelo’s 
eyes, and he broke forth in a tone of joyous fervency: 

“Ah, how blessed it would be to die for such a 
cause—it would be martyrdom!” 

“But your brother—consider your brother; you 
would be risking his life, too.” 

“He risked mine an hour ago,” responded Angelo, 
gloomily; “did he consider me?” A thought swept 
through his mind that made him shudder. “If I 
had not run, I might have been killed in a duel on 
the Sabbath day, and my soul would have been lost 
—lost.” 

“Oh, don’t fret, it wasn’t in any danger,” said 
Luigi, irritably; “they wouldn’t waste it for a little 
thing like that; there’s a glass case all ready for it 
in the heavenly museum, and a pin to sti k it up 
with.” 

Aunt Patsy was shocked, and said: 

“XrfQoy, Looy!—-don’t talk so, dear!” 


MARK TWAIN 

Rowena’s soft heart was pierced by Luigi’s un¬ 
feeling words, and she murmured to herself, “Oh, 
if I but had the dear privilege of protecting and 
defending him with my weak voice!—but alas! this 
sweet boon is denied me by the cruel conventions of 
social intercourse.” 

“Get their bed ready,” said Aunt Patsy to 
Nancy, “and shut up the windows and doors, and 
light their candles, and see that you drive all the 
mosquitoes out of their bar, and make up a good 
fire in their stove, and carry up some bags of hot 
ashes to lay to his feet—” 

—“and a shovel of fire for his head, and a mus¬ 
tard plaster for his neck, and some gum shoes for 
his ears,” Luigi interrupted, with temper; and 
added, to himself, “Damnation, I’m going to be 
roasted alive, I just know it!” 

“Why, Looy! Do be quiet; I never saw such 
a fractious thing. A body would think you didn’t 
care for your brother.” 

“I don’t—to that extent, Aunt Patsy. I was 
glad the drowning was postponed a minute ago, but 
I’m not now. No, that is all gone by; I want to 
be drowned.” 

“You’ll bring a judgment on yourself just as sure 
as you live, if you go on like that. Why, I never 
heard the beat of it. Now, there—there! you’ve 
said enough. Not another word out of you—-I 
won’t hj.ve it!” 

“But, Aunt Patsy—” 

“LUgi! Didn’t you hear what I told you?” 

“But, Aunt Patsy, I—why, I’m not going to 
284 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

set my heart and lungs afloat in that pail of sewage 
which this criminal here has been prescri—” 

“Yes, you are, too. You are going to be good, 
and do everything I tell you, like a dear,” and she 
tapped his cheek affectionately with her finger. 
“Rowena, take the prescription and go in the 
kitchen and hunt up the things and lay them out 
for me. I’ll sit up with my patient the rest of the 
night, doctor; I can’t trust Nancy, she couldn’t 
make Luigi take the medicine. Of course, you’ll 
drop in again during the day. Have you got any 
more directions?” 

“No, I believe not, Aunt Patsy. If I don’t get 
in earlier, I’ll be along by early candle-light, anyway. 
Meantime, don’t allow him to get out of his bed.” 

Angelo said, with calm determination: 

“I shall be baptized at two o’clock. Nothing 
but death shall prevent me.” 

The doctor said nothing aloud, but to himself he 
said: 

“Why, this chap’s got a manly side, after alll 
Physically he’s a coward, but morally he’s a lion. 
I’ll go and tell the others about this; it will raise 
him a good deal in their estimation—and the public 
will follow their lead, of course.” 

Privately, Aunt Patsy applauded too, and was 
proud of Angelo’s courage in the moral field as she 
was of Luigi’s in the field of honor. 

The boy Henry was troubled, but thaSoy Joe 
said, inaudibly, and gratefully, “We’re ak hunky, 
after all; and no postponement on account of the 
weather.” 


285 


CHAPTER VIII 


B Y nine o’clock the town was humming with the 
news of the midnight duel, and there were but 
two opinions about it: one, that Luigi’s pluck in 
the field was most praiseworthy and Angelo’s flight 
most scandalous; the other, that Angelo’s courage 
in flying the field for conscience’ sake was as fine 
and creditable as was Luigi’s in holding the field in 
the face of the bullets. The one opinion was held 
by half of the town, the other one was maintained 
by the other half. The division was clean and 
exact, and it made two parties, an Angelo party 
and a Luigi party. The twins had suddenly become 
popular idols along with Pudd’nhead Wilson, and 
haloed with a glory as intense as his. The children 
talked the duel all the way to Sunday-school, their 
elders talked it all the way to church, the choir dis¬ 
cussed it behind their red curtain, it usurped the 
place of pious thought in the “nigger gallery.” 

By noon the doctor had added the news, and 
spread it, that Count Angelo, in spite of his wound 
and all warnings and supplications, was resolute in 
his determination to be baptized at the hour ap¬ 
pointee/ This swept the town like wildfire, and 
mightily reinforced the enthusiasm of the Angelo 
faction, who said, “If any doubted that it was 
286 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

moral courage that took him from the field, what 
have they to say now!” 

Still the excitement grew. All the morning it was 
traveling countryward, toward all points of the 
compass; so, whereas before only the farmers and 
their wives were intending to come and witness the 
remarkable baptism, a general holiday was now 
proclaimed and the children and negroes admitted 
to the privileges of the occasion. All the farms for 
ten miles around w r ere vacated, all the converging 
roads emptied long processions of wagons, horses, 
and yeomanry into the town. The pack and cram 
of people vastly exceeded any that had ever been 
seen in that sleepy region before. The only thing 
that had ever even approached it, was the time 
long gone by, but never forgotten, nor even referred 
to without wonder and pride, when two circuses and 
a Fourth of July fell together. But the glory of that 
occasion was extinguished now for good. It was 
but a freshet to this deluge. 

The great invasion massed itself on the river-bank 
and waited hungrily for the immense event. Waited, 
and wondered if it would really happen, or if the 
twin who was not a “professor” would stand out 
and prevent it. 

But they were not to be disappointed. Angelo 
was as good as his word. He came attended by an 
escort of honor composed of several hundred of the 
best citizens, all of the Angelo party; and when the 
immersion was finished they escorted him back home: 
and would even have carried him on their shoulders, 
but that people might think they were carrying Luigi. 

287 


MARK TWAIN 


Far into the night the citizens continued to discuss 
and wonder over the strangely mated pair of inci - 1 
dents that had distinguished and exalted the past 
twenty-four hours above any other twenty-four in the 
history of their town for picturesqueness and splen¬ 
did interest; and long before the lights were out and 
burghers asleep it had been decided on all hands that 
in capturing these twins Dawson’s Landing had drawn 
a prize in the great lottery of municipal fortune. 

At midnight Angelo was sleeping peacefully. His 
immersion had not harmed him, it had merely made 
him wholesomely drowsy, and he had been dead 
asleep many hours now. It had made Luigi drowsy, 
too, but he had got only brief naps, on account of 
his having to take the medicine every three-quarters 
of an hour—and Aunt Betsy Hale was there to see 
that he did it. When he complained and resisted, 
she was quietly firm with him, and said in a low 
voice: 

“No—no, that won’t do; you mustn’t talk, and 
you mustn’t retch and gag that way, either—you’ll 
wake up your poor brother.” 

“Well, what of it, Aunt Betsy, he—” 

“ ’Sh-h! Don’t make a noise, dear. You mustn’t 
forget that your poor brother is sick and—” 

“Sick, is he? Well, I wish I—” 

“’Sh-h-h! Will you be quiet, Luigi! Here, now, 
take the rest of it—don’t keep me holding the dip¬ 
per all night. I declare if you haven’t left a good 
fourth of it in the bottom! Come—that’s a good 
boy.” 

“Aunt Betsy, don’t make me! I feel like I’ve 
288 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

swallowed a cemetery; I do, indeed. Do let me 
rest a little—just a little; I can’t take any more of 
the devilish stuff now.” 

“Luigi! Using such language here, and him just 
baptized! Do you want the roof to fall on you?” 

“I wish to goodness it would!” 

“Why, you dreadful thing! I’ve a good notion 
to—let that blanket alone; do you want your 
brother to catch his death?” 

“Aunt Betsy, I’ve got to have it off, I’m being 
roasted alive; nobody could stand it—-you couldn’t 
yourself.” 

“Now, then, you’re sneezing again—I just ex- 
pected it.” 

“Because I’ve caught a cold in my head. I 
always do, when I go in the water with my clothes 
on. And it takes me weeks to get over it, too. I 
think it was a shame to serve me so.” 

“Luigi, you are unreasonable; you know very 
well they couldn’t baptize him dry. I should think 
you would be willing to undergo a little inconve¬ 
nience for your brother’s sake.” 

‘ * Inconvenience! Now how you talk, Aunt Betsy. 
I came as near as anything to getting drowned— 
you saw that yourself; and do you call this incon¬ 
venience?—the room shut up as tight as a drum, 
and so hot the mosquitoes are trying to get out; 
and a cold in the head, and dying for sleep and no 
chance to get any on account of this infamous 
medicine that that assassin prescri—” 

“There, you’re sneezing again. I’m going down 
and mix some more of this truck for you, dear/* 
289 


CHAPTER IX 


D URING Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday the 
twins grew steadily worse; but then the doctor 
was summoned South to attend his mother’s funeral, 
and they got well in forty-eight hours. They ap¬ 
peared on the street on Friday, and were welcomed 
with enthusiasm by the new-born parties, the Luigi 
and Angelo factions. The Luigi faction carried its 
strength into the Democratic party, the Angelo fac¬ 
tion entered into a combination with the Whigs. 
The Democrats nominated Luigi for alderman under 
the new city government, and the Whigs put up 
Angelo against him. The Democrats nominated 
Pudd’nhead Wilson for mayor, and he was left 
alone in this glory, for the Whigs had no man who 
was willing to enter the lists against such a formi¬ 
dable opponent. No politician had scored such a 
compliment as this before in the history of the 
Mississippi Valley. 

The political campaign in Dawson’s Landing 
opened in a pretty warm fashion, and waxed hotter 
every week. Luigi’s whole heart was in it, and even 
Angelo developed a surprising amount of interest— 
which was natural, because he was not merely repre¬ 
senting Whigism, a matter of no consequence to 
him, but he was representing something immensely 
290 


THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS 

finer and greater—to wit, Reform. In him was 
centered the hopes of the whole reform element of 
the town; he was the chosen and admired cham¬ 
pion of every clique that had a pet reform of any 
sort or kind at heart. He was president of the great 
Teetotalers* Union, its chiefest prophet and mouth¬ 
piece. 

But as the canvass went on, troubles began to 
spring up all around—troubles for the twins, and 
through them for all the parties and segments and 
factions of parties. Whenever Luigi had possession 
of the legs, he carried Angelo to balls, rum shops, 
Sons of Liberty parades, horse-races, campaign 
riots, and everywhere else that could damage himi 
with his party and the church; and when it was* 
Angelo’s week he carried Luigi diligently to all 
manner of moral and religious gatherings, doing his 
best to regain the ground he had lost before. As' 
a result of these double performances, there was aj 
storm blowing all the time, an ever-rising storm, j 
too—a storm of frantic criticism of the twins, and 
rage over their extravagant, incomprehensible con-1 
duct. 

Luigi had the final chance. The legs were his for 
the closing week of the canvass. He led his brother 
a fearful dance. 

But he saved his best card for the very eve of the 
election. There .was to be a grand turnout of the 
Teetotalers’ Union that day, and Angelo was to 
march at the head of the procession and deliver a 
great oration afterward. Luigi drank a couple of 
glasses of whisky—which steadied his nerves and 
291 



MARK TWAIN 


clarified his mind, but made Angelo drunk. Every¬ 
body who saw the march, saw that the Champion of 
the Teetotalers was half seas over, and noted also 
that his brother, who made no hypocritical preten¬ 
sions to extra temperance virtues, was dignified and 
sober. This eloquent fact could not be unfruitful at 
the end of a hot political canvass. At the mass¬ 
meeting Angelo tried to make his great temperance 
oration, but was so discommoded by hiccoughs and 
thickness of tongue that he had to give it up; then 
drowsiness overtook him and his head drooped 
against Luigi’s and he went to sleep. Luigi apolo¬ 
gized for him, and was going on to improve his op¬ 
portunity with an appeal for a moderation of what 
he called “the prevailing teetotal madness,” but 
persons in the audience began to howl and throw 
things at him, and then the meeting rose in wrath 
and chased him home. 

This episode was a crusher for Angelo in another 
way. It destroyed his chances with Rowena. Those 
chances had been growing, right along, for two 
months. Rowena had partly confessed that she 
loved him, but wanted time to consider. Now the 
tender dream was ended, and she told him so the 
moment he was sober enough to understand. She 
said she would never marry a man who drank. 

“But I don’t drink,” he pleaded. 

“That is nothing to the point,” she said, coldly, 
“you get drunk, and that is worse.” 

[There was a long and sufficiently idiotic discussion here, which 
ended as reported in a previous note.] 


CHAPTER X 


D AWSON’S LANDING had a week of repose, 
after the election, and it needed it, for the 
frantic and variegated nightmare which had tor¬ 
mented it all through the preceding week had left it 
limp, haggard, and exhausted at the end. It got the 
week of repose because Angelo had the legs, and 
was in too subdued a condition to want to go out 
and mingle with an irritated community that had 
come to distrust and detest him because there was 
such a lack of harmony between his morals, which 
were confessedly excellent, and his methods of 
illustrating them, which were distinctly damnable. 

The new city officers were sworn in on the follow¬ 
ing Monday—at least all but Luigi. There was a 
complication in his case. His election was con¬ 
ceded, but he could not sit in the board of aldermen 
without his brother, and his brother could not sit 
there because he was not a member. There seemed 
to be no way out of the difficulty but to carry the 
matter into the courts, so this was resolved upon. 
The case was set for the Monday fortnight. In due 
course the time arrived. In the mean time the city 
government had been at a standstill, because with¬ 
out Luigi there was a tie in the board of aldermen, 
whereas with him the liquor interest—the richest in 
293 


MARK TWAIN 


the political field—would have one majority. But 
the court decided that Angelo could not sit in the 
board with him, either in public or executive ses¬ 
sions, and at the same time forbade the board to 
deny admission to Luigi, a fairly and legally chosen 
alderman. The case was carried up and up from 
court to court, yet still the same old original de¬ 
cision was confirmed every time. As a result, the 
city government not only stood still, with its hands 
tied, but everything it was created to protect and 
care for went a steady gait toward rack and ruin. 
There was no way to levy a tax, so the minor officials 
had to resign or starve; therefore they resigned. 
There being no city money, the enormous legal 
expenses on both sides had to be defrayed by private 
subscription. But at last the people came to their 
senses, and said: 

“Pudd’nhead was right at the start—we ought to 
have hired the official half of that human phillipene 
to resign; but it's too late now; some of us haven’t 
got anything left to hire him with.” 

“Yes, we have,” said another citizen, “we’ve got 
this”—and he produced a halter. 

Many shouted: “That’s the ticket.” But others 
said: “No—Count Angelo is innocent; we mustn’t 
hang him.” 

“Who said anything about hanging him? We 
are only going to hang the other one.” 

“Then that is all right—there is no objection to* 
that.” 

So they hanged Luigi. And so ends the history 
Of “Those Extraordinary Twins,” 


FINAL REMARKS 


As you see, it was an extravagant sort of a tale, 
and had no purpose but to exhibit that monstrous 
“freak” in all sorts of grotesque lights. But when 
Roxy wandered into the tale she had to be furnished 
with something to do; so she changed the children 
in the cradle; this necessitated the invention of a 
reason for it; this, in turn, resulted in making the 
children prominent personages—nothing could pre¬ 
vent it, of course. Their career began to take a 
tragic aspect, and some one had to be brought in to 
help work the machinery; so Pudd’nhead Wilson 
was introduced and taken on trial. By this time the 
whole show was being run by the new people and in 
their interest, and the original show was become 
side-tracked and forgotten; the twin-monster, and 
the heroine, and the lads, and the old ladies had 
dwindled to inconsequentialities and were merely in 
the way. Their story was one story, the new peo¬ 
ple’s story was another story, and there was no con¬ 
nection between them, no interdependence, no kin¬ 
ship. It is not practicable or rational to try to tell 
two stories at the same time; so I dug out the 
farce and left the tragedy. 

The reader already knew how the expert works; 
he knows now how the other kind do it. 

Mark Twain. 










' *. * * «6 <Zi ° • * v> <* '..** .0 

0 V c 1 ' 0 -» ^O c 0 H ° ♦ <^A « *■ ' • 4 ( 

(j ^ /y>2-, •» O . <* *r <*. . 4 /v'^2- -* 


*-*■0* 






* *^«s - ^ * 

" ** o* 

• *p^ vSSjK*: *- 

O '* - 0* C? ^ ^ O *+ 

% 0 " 0 A 0 ^ * ' 1 A? ° " 0 A' 

*’*■'*. % .4? * « v *V .*?* 

• %./ :mA- ***** :sK&\ 

< V ^ .» 

„ <> *...«' .0* >=, '» . .* A <, 

w* /.ssw. V c u .w^,% ^ -r .vssw. < 



%'C, 


* o 



^9 


* & % • 


o V 




o V 





V 1 


^ c^vv/y/y^jy > ^ T »* ~ ^||\\\v \\ ^ ^ ^ «. <r^V//> 

v^ /.. V 3 *’ / V ^ .v 

» * • o- *> V ** VL'* c\ ,o 

* ^ ^ *V 5 IEV. ** /r *Vfe<PA> ^ ^ , 

>a® - ^c,v ^m|k» . 

^ 4y & ° m a * •& 4x7 \u 

* • • > s <G 'Z> * ° • a * # # s s . C> v!> 

u 1 ^ A> o ° w 0 * <$> A # t #«^ 

C° ♦W^l% o ^ ^ C° " c 

•'■o ; llllr. ^ t- . ,< ®li* ^o** ' 

i- 0 '<^. a 10 - 4 - -. 




a v -^. : 

,4^ ° 

a <. % ^rt % <o 

A o ^ o^ • 

^ ^r ry i 


^ o V ^SAk ^ A V i 

t£* # v ^^ v 4 ^ ^ 



O # A 


t * 0 



< ^ C 0 " ° ♦ & 

S* • <► 4 

<N v 
^ ; 



» ^ , WV xs?.° v • 

“V ° N 0 A 0 • n w ^ 

. t <0 V ^ 

^ \ 'V* a-v ► ^ s» • 


^ ^ O 

r * <P o 







% « 

^4 V Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 

^ Neutralizing Agent: Magnesium Oxide 


^ O ^o*a^ *\ Treatment Date: 

0^ t . 1 * * -, '^o c o N o „ 

c + e 



jgtfL AUG 

IIIBbbkkeeper 


1996 


PRESERVATION TECHNOLOGIES, INC. 
111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Twp., PA 16066 
(412) 779-2111 

*\ v s • - - 












V 






































































